Mess
by Kahlann
Summary: Severitus challenge, with twists. Sirius' death reveals secrets best left unknown. Harry takes it upon himself to end Voldemort, but he doesn't know he still has a family who cares about him...
1. when the dead tells a tale

**Disclaimer:** Everything you recognise is J.K.Rowling's property. This story is a response to the Severitus Challenge.

**Chapter one: when the dead tells a tale**

Harry Potter for once wasn't very happy to return to the wizarding world. After a relatively uneventful summer (chores, grieving for Sirius, blaming himself endlessly, bad dreams and false or true visions of Voldemort), the Headmaster himself had come to fetch him because he had to be there for the hearing of Sirius' will.

So there he was, following Dumbledore into Gringotts, where a Goblin told them to enter his superior's office. Lupin was already there, as well as Tonks and Arthur Weasley.

Harry forced himself to smile at them and sat between Lupin and Tonks. Dumbledore sat on the chair near the door. Only one seat remained, and the Goblin behind the desk seemed to be awaiting someone else.

Two minutes later, the next-to-last person Harry wanted to see (just before Voldemort in fact) entered the room, sneered at its occupants and sat. _Why would Snape of all people be in Sirius' will? They couldn't stand each other! _

As soon as Snape sat, Harry forgot all about the man's presence, for Sirius' voice filled the room. A voice he thought he would never hear again. He sensed Lupin's hand on his shoulder, and it helped. A little.

"_If anyone hears that it means that I, Sirius Nobilus Black, am dead. This is my will, and I wish Harry James Potter, Remus Lupin, Nymphadora Tonks, Severus Snape and Albus Dumbledore to be there for its hearing._

_Let's begin with the material things:_

_First of all, my **dear** old house is to be owned by Remus Lupin. You're free to give access to whomever you want, including the old crowd. Moony, you once told me (whether to cheer me up or because you really meant it, I'll never know) that "with a little care, it could be a great place"… it's up to you now!_

_My money is to be shared in equal parts by Remus Lupin, Arthur Weasley and Nymphadora Tonks._

_Tonks, we didn't know each other very well, but you're the only member of my family I'm not ashamed of and that I like, and trust me it's worth thousands of galleons! _

_Arthur, you and your family are the only things standing between me and madness. If it weren't for all of you I think I couldn't stay in that damned house for more that a few days. These twins of yours are really great! The worthy heirs of the Marauders…_

_Harry, I was going to give you everything, but then I remembered what you once told me. How you would give back all your parent's vault just to spend one minute with them you could remember… I think you've got enough gold from dead people, don't you? I know you don't want it. _

_Now that all my modest possessions are out of the way, lets begin with the rest._

_Remus, you have my most sincere apology. If I had trusted you all those years ago, I would never have begged James to make Wormtail his secret keeper and all this disaster could have been avoided… I know you think we're even because you thought I was a mass murderer for twelve years, but I want you to know that I have forgiven you for that. Take care Moony. _

_Dumbledore, I thank you for finally believing me two years ago. Since then, even if I wasn't free, you've helped me to hide from these ministry idiots and I want you to know that even if I **really** don't like this place, I am grateful. _

_However, I still have a few grudges against you, and if I'm dead, there's no point of shutting them up, is there? So here we go. WHAT IN THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING, PLACING THE KID WHITH THESE DAMNED MUGGLES! He never says a thing, but I KNOW he isn't well cared for there! BLOODY HELL Headmaster! He was willing to come living with me as soon as he learned I wasn't a mass murderer! Doesn't it tell you anything? I really hope you have a VERY good reason. Else I'll be haunting you to your grave. _

_But I guess it's as much my fault as yours, so I won't say anything else._

_Snape. I have a few things to tell you, and I beg you to listen. Yes, I **beg you**. You never thought you would see the day when I'd beg you for anything, did you? Well, here it is. I did certain things I'm not proud of now, and I know you, more than anyone, can understand that. I'm not asking for forgiveness, I just wanted you to know that I'm sorry. _

_And that there's more, much more to forgive…I wrote you a letter and I want you to read it till the end before you say anything to anyone. _

_Harry, you've got one too. And I ask for your forgiveness as well for what it will tell you. You're the main reason why I did leave anything at all. I don't want you to tell Remus one day about how when anyone you care about die, the only thing left is money… you really broke my heart when you said that, kid. _

_Because I have loads of memory of James and Lily, but I realise that you haven't… _

_That's it. It's done, and I really look forward to forget this thing! It's morbid, to do a thing like that. I'm still young, and not looking forward to die. I sure hope no one will hear that in a good fifty years, but I fear there is no time. Every time Snape comes here and tell me how lazy I am to just sit there and do nothing while others get killed…_

_I want to do something, I want to go out and fight, and if you hear this, it's probably what I did… _

_I'm sorry Harry, for if I indeed left the house protection, then it is entirely my fault if I died and you're alone once again. But remember that you're not. You have Remus, and your friends, and perhaps soon you'll have someone else… _

_April, the 23rd 1996. _

Silence filled the room as the Goblin handed two letters, one to Snape and the other to Harry. He hesitantly took it and pocketed it. It was the last letter of Sirius he would ever receive, and he didn't want to read it with Lupin reading over his shoulder. From the corner of his eye, he saw Snape doing the same, looking a little _green_.

Harry supposed that hearing from someone you hate that you taunting him was probably what lead him to his death was certainly difficult, even for him.

Unable to stand his sight anymore, Harry quickly left the room, followed by Remus (who for once hadn't tried to play nice with the greasy git).

The rest of the day passed quickly. Lupin took him to Diagon Alley to buy his school things, then they went to Grimmauld Place. He only had to spend one night there, the next day being the first September.

As he arrived, he was immediately surrounded by people. All the Weasleys save Percy were there, as well as Hermione, and of course Remus. He couldn't help but think that Sirius would have been happy to see his so-hated house so filled with life and joy.

He didn't get the chance to look at his letter alone, and he wasn't really looking forward to. Reading it would make it real. Here, he could still pretend that Sirius was alive, laughing downstairs at the twins antics… he would read it later, he promised himself.

For now, he would just enjoy being with his friends after two months of complete loneliness (he didn't count the Dursleys as company).

Severus Snape was facing the same dilemma. He had been very surprised when Black had wanted him to hear his will, but he had thought it was another prank, a mean for the mutt to taunt him again even if he was dead. He had only agreed to be there on Dumbledore's explicit order. But to actually hear him apologise for all their past angst…

And he sounded so bloody _sincere_. So _serious._ Well, of course he was. Sirius. Hahaha. Everything was good to bring his mind out of it, even silly jokes.

He couldn't forget one thing the mutt had said. "_ I did certain things I'm not proud of, and I know you, more than anyone, can understand that."_

And he was right. If there was one thing Severus could understand, it was regretting past mistakes. Guilt was something he lived with for so long… once, he had been a Death Eater, he had truly and fully believed himself above muggle-born and half-blood, and he had tortured and killed…

But Black had never done anything like that. True, he had wanted to kill him. To make him the werewolf's dinner. But it wasn't worse than anything himself had done, by any means. And the man was dead. No need to hold grudges to the dead ones. Who had apologised no less.

But another part of Black's little speech stayed in his mind: "_there's more, much more to forgive…I wrote you a letter and I want you to read it till the end before you say anything to anyone"_

What could be in that blasted letter? Apparently some confession. More to forgive… what could it be? And why did the git want it to be known after his death? If he had done something bad, he should have wanted to keep it to himself, shouldn't he? And what _does it have to do with me?_

_Only one way to find out…_said a little sneaky voice in his mind. Black's voice. And for once, he listened to it. He carefully opened the letter…

_"Snape,_

_I have something to tell you, but if you're reading this it means I'm dead and I didn't tell. I swear I wanted to, but I must not have had the time… and really, when you're taunting me about this place I'm forced to reside in, I'm in half a mind to keep it to myself._

_But I can't. I've kept it secret for much too long. At first, I thought it was for everyone's best. Yours, Lily's, James', Harry's, and mine. At the time I thought you were a loyal Death Eater… and when I discovered you were a spy, I thought it was too late, because Harry and you already hated each other. _

_But let's start from the beginning, or what you remember anyway. Do you remember that night when I asked you the Heir's Potion? _

And he did, even if he didn't really see what it had to do with anything.

He had been brewing something for classes in his dungeons (it was his first year of teaching) when Black had entered his classroom. Raising an eyebrow, he had put the potion in stasis and grabbed his wand, while the mutt placed silence wards. Then, he talked.

"Snape"

"Black. What do you want?"

"A potion."

"A potion? What potion? And what made you think I would make one for you?"

"I'll pay. I want the Heir's Potion."

"The Heir's Potion? Having an affair with a married woman, mutt? "

"She's pregnant, and I can't very well afford to have a child looking like me around there…"

"Do you have the husband's blood?

"Of course."

"Fine. Return in a week and I'll have it. Then you'll have to make the woman drink it in a full moon and…"

"I **_know_**. Bye Snape."

And he had left, just like he came. It wasn't the first time he demanded a potion, and he always paid. This time hadn't seem any special to Severus, but apparently it was, if Black mentioned it after all this time… Maybe he wanted to tell Snape the name of the married woman he had slept with?

Shaking his head, he read the rest of the letter.

"_You asked me if I was having an affair with a married woman. The thing is, I wasn't. **You** were."_

Okay, so the mutt definitely lost it.

"_I know what you're thinking. But you can't remember it, because I erased your memory as soon as I found out. _

_If you don't believe me, you only have to drink the "Healing Verity". I assume you know how to make it… but read all of this first, so you'll know what to look for._

_After their marriage, James and Lily weren't as happy as they let on. James was always somewhere else, tracking your D.E. friends, and Lily had to hide… she was probably bored out of her mind and she started spending more and more time with **you** of all people! _

_Of course, you were both kind of friends back at school, and she probably thought you were the only one who wouldn't try to defend James… _

_After a few months you were very good friends. And then, I don't know how she did, but Lily managed to obtain proof that James was cheating on her… When James came back, she confronted him with his many adventures and he denied. She must have been really desperate, and you and her started to… Hum. _

_One day, I came by to see James and he wasn't there, but Lily was… and she was packing. She said she wouldn't go into hiding with him as Dumbledore asked. She said she was gonna leave James and go live with you. Said she was pregnant of your child… _

_You must try to understand me then. I was sure you were a Death Eater and Lily was like my sister… I tried to make her see it but she blabbed about you being a spy, and I thought she was just blinded because she loved you… and I panicked. I obliviated her, obliviated all she thought of you, all she felt for you, all your moments together (I was born in a Dark family, obliviate holds no secrets for me…)._

_Then, I did the same to you. But as you always said, I'm a 'bloody Gryffindor', acting first and thinking later. When I did pause to think of what I had done, I realised that the child would look like you… And I asked you to make the Heir Potion to make Harry look like a Potter… ironic, don't you think?_

_I thought it didn't matter if you remembered me asking, because it wouldn't be the first potion I paid you to make, and I was so afraid you would become suspicious if you had too many holes in your memory…_

_When James returned and Lily didn't remember you, she fell in love with him again, and he was forced to stop his errands to go into hiding. And when he learned that she was pregnant, he was so happy! _

_All these years, I thought It was for the best. When I saw what that child did to their dead couple, I thought it was worth it. I really believed that James and Lily would be better for him that you would ever be. I didn't even want to think about the possibility of **you** taking care of my little godson. _

_When they were killed and I went to Azkaban, I was still proud to be the one who allowed my best friend's last years to be so happy. I thought Harry would be taken care of by his aunt and uncle… _

_It was a mistake. You must trust me on this, Snape, but there's something not right there. When I escaped Azkaban and first saw him, he was running out of his uncle's house. And he's so skinny, so little, so shy… His friends say he never receives anything for Christmas, never gets any letters, never talks about his family… he never goes back there for the holidays either, except for summer and I've the feeling it's only because he can't stay at school. _

_That night, when we found Wormtail, I asked him if he wanted to live with me, once I'd been cleared. He didn't knew me for more than half an hour. All he knew about me was that I had once been a friend of his parents and that I wasn't a murderer. Yet, he immediately said yes… with such obvious desire to leave his uncle's house!_

_Then I first questioned my decision. But you already both hated each other… and I wasn't convinced you wouldn't go back to Voldemort as soon as he would be back._

_Last year I learned you were a spy all this time. And I saw all I had done. Lily truly loved you, and I believe you loved her too. If I had let her go this time, perhaps you would have had a happy life together. Perhaps she wouldn't be dead. You wouldn't be such a heartless bastard. And Harry wouldn't have had to suffer through a loveless childhood. _

_Still, I wasn't going to tell you. Cowardice, maybe. Or just resignation. It was too late, much too late. And I was so convinced that he hated you…_

_But yesterday, I learned that he doesn't. How? He told me. Not like that of course. But… what he saw in your pensieve really shook him, you know. He was so distraught. Ashamed that his father would do something like that. Shocked that all we'd been telling him about James had been a lie, that **you** were the one who never lied. That his father was every bit as arrogant and mean as you'd always made him._

_He didn't pity you. He didn't laugh. He **sympathised. **Because of his horrid childhood with these stupid muggles, or just because of who he is. Do you know what he told me? He asked me "**what was he thinking?"** and I answered "**he was fifteen and an idiot"**. I told him that everybody was an idiot at fifteen. He had tears in his eyes. Tears of shame, of sympathy for you. _

_I took what he said for me. "what was I thinking", indeed. To choose to hold the truth even now when I knew it was a mistake…To choose to let him go back to those muggles when there was an alternative. _

_And I decided to tell both of you. It wasn't easy. But now you know. Harry is your son, and he should have been all along. He needs you Snape, he needs someone to rely on, to love. Please, don't hold my mistakes against him. I wrote him a letter too, explaining things as well. _

_I love him like a son, and if I'm gone, then you're the only one he has left. Remus won't take care of him, he didn't when James died…_

_Please Severus. Please. _

_Sirius Black._

Severus sat for a long while staring at nothing.

A part of him didn't want to believe it. _He,_ having an affair with _Lily Potter_? Having a _child?_

How could Potter be anyone's child but James'? He remembered when he first saw the boy who looked so much like his father. He had wondered then, if Black hadn't ask the bloody potion because he had slept with his best friend's wife. He had thought Black was a traitor and a murderer then. The idea had made him laugh.

But now… everything was so clear.

Why Black had always wanted to see him each time he went to that awful house, only to back up at the first little taunt.

Why he couldn't even remember Lily's face even if they had spent seven years in Hogwards together.

Why she had always been Lily to him, and not Evans or Potter…

Shaking his head, he quickly went to his potion lab. There was only one way to be sure, and he wouldn't even think about it until he was sure. It could all be a prank.

Harry couldn't be his son (and when did he become Harry anyway?)

Still, one thing that had nothing to do with the boy's parentage troubled him. His reaction to the pensieved memory… according to Black anyway, was disturbing.

He had thought the boy would be pleased to see his hated professor being humiliated, but apparently he hadn't. Black had talked about _tears in his eyes. Tears of shame and sympathy. _But Snape had never saw the boy cry.

Even after the Third Task.

Even after the mutt death…

The mutt. If it was true, then he had stolen his child from him. His child… No. He refused to think it could be true until he had proof. The potion took an hour to make and had to rest for nine. It would be ready tomorrow morning.

Until then, he needed to rest.


	2. habits die hard

**Disclaimer:** Everything you recognise is J.K.Rowling's property. This story is a response to the Severitus Challenge.

**Chapter two: habits die hard**

Severus woke up in a start with the feeling that he ought to be doing something important. _The potion!_ _It must be ready by now!_

He got up in a hurry, not bothering to dress as the potion would make him pass out for a few hours (depending on the amount of memories he had to get back). There. It was perfect. Perfect colour, perfect smell, and without doubt perfectly disgusting taste.

He took a sip of the milk-looking potion and stopped. Did he want to know? It wasn't too late. Perhaps Potter hadn't read his letter yet. He could stole it and forget all this ever happened.

Except he wouldn't forget. Not now. He had to know.

He didn't know which scenario he preferred. The idea of having a son made him ambivalent.

He was quite happy without one. Well, perhaps "happy" wasn't exactly the word. But satisfied, at least. He liked the quiet of his rooms, the tidiness of everything. He liked being able to do as he well pleased without having anyone to judge him constantly. He liked singing under the shower (something he definitely didn't want anyone to find out, especially a student), he liked eating when he wanted and what he wanted, he liked… lots of things that came with being alone.

Basically, he liked his independence. He liked not having to worry about someone else. He liked not caring about other's feelings. He liked not risking being wounded by someone he loved.

However, since he knew the possibility of being a father existed…

He caught himself thinking how nice it would be to have someone to share everything with. A son. To be proud of, to care about. To love, even, if he could. Someone who would value his judgment, look forward to his company…

He was scared, of course, that it wouldn't work like that. The darkest part of him knew intimately that Harry would never ever want to have him as a father, where it counted. If, _if_, he was the boy's father, it wouldn't really mean anything in itself, would it?

Harry, knowing the truth, could still decide that he didn't want to have anything to do with Snape. And Severus could still decide that he much preferred being left alone than having to take care of a teenager.

Then there was the matter of Harry's appearance. The Heir Potion only worked as long as both the child and his mother's husband were unaware of his true parentage. Once Harry found out, he would stop looking like a Potter.

And that could prove disastrous, as long as Voldemort was alive.

Harry was the hero of the wizarding world. He was a figurehead, much needed to give hope to the rest of their world. He couldn't simply vanish, nor could he become the son of a filthy death eater. Harry Potter must remain.

And if Voldemort learned that the boy who had defeated him was Severus' son, his role as a spy would come to an end.

Either way, _he_ had to find out. He drank the potion. And collapsed.

As always, the Weasleys (and everyone who was foolish enough to come with them) were nearly late to take the Hogwards Express. They weren't even seated when the train left King's Cross. Ron and Hermione had to go to the Prefects compartment, while Ginny wanted to go find her friends. So Harry was alone (not that he minded, it would give him time to read his letter). He tried to find an empty compartment, but they were all taken…

At the far end of the train, he did find one. He pushed his things aside, and sat near the window. There, he took his letter in his hands and looked at its envelope. It was a simple blank one, almost mugglish. It had a simple name written over the front in Sirius' harsh handwriting. "Harry

He simply stared at it, unable to unfold it. But he had to, hadn't he? He had pushed it aside as long as he could, making up all sorts of excuses, but now was the perfect moment. He was alone and would be for quite a while now that everyone was seated.

He didn't know how long he just stayed like that, staring at his name written by a man who would never write anything again, when suddenly the door opened and he quickly put the letter in his pocket. Then he stared unbelievably at the boy standing in front of him.

"Malfoy? What the hell are you doing here?"

"Shut up! They're gonna hear you!"

"Whom are you talking about?" _He whispered_

"Crabbe and Goyle and Pansy and Theodore and every bloody roommate I have!"

At that, Malfoy seemed to broke down. He sat next to the window and put his head on his hands. Just as Harry was wondering what to do, he heard Crabbe's voice saying to try their compartment. Without thinking, Harry opened the door, just enough to get out, then shut it.

"What are you looking for?" he asked them dryly.

"Potter. Are you alone in there? Did you see Malfoy?" asked Parkinson back.

"Nope. Why?" he looked disdainfully at them, as if thinking they weren't worth his time.

"We just wanted to see him… talk a little." Said Goyle, trying to sound confident.

"About what?" Harry asked without care. Witch was an act. Actually, he was beginning to feel a little curious.

"About what the Dark Lord thinks of his pitiful excuse for a father! Now be a good little boy and tell us where he is." Threatened Goyle.

"Do I look like someone who would protect _Malfoy?_"

That seemed to do the trick. Harry's and Malfoy's dislike of each other was well known, since they had despised each other from the first day of school - and even before in Harry's case.

"Perhaps not. Well, if you don't, be sure to let us know if you see him, okay? Perhaps we'll let you play a little…" concluded Parkinson, smirking.

"Sure. Bye."

He re-entered the compartment and smirked at Malfoy's look of astonishment. _Probably thought I would hold him while they beat him up… _

"Now could you explain why I just had to save your sorry ass?" he asked casually, sitting in front of the other boy.

"I suppose. You know what happened last June? I heard you were there."

"Yeah" _I got my godfather killed in the process, _he thought bitterly

"Well, my father was leading the assault. But it didn't go well. He didn't accomplish the mission he'd been _asked_ to do, and instead got many D.E. to get caught and put in jail. Himself included."

"I assume his _Master_ wasn't thrilled."

Malfoy shrugged ironically, then replied seriously:

"No he wasn't. And he seems to think that letting him stay in Azkaban isn't enough. And that sending him my head as a birthday present would be appropriate. "

"Eugh."

"Yes. So, I should probably be thanking you for _saving my sorry ass_."

"Yes, you probably should… "

"Wanna tell me why you did that? "

"Hum. Didn't fancy having _my_ compartment all bloodied?"

"Is that an answer or a question, Potter?"

"No idea."

"…"

"…"

"so, what were you doing in here all alone Potter?"

"Well, trying to sleep actually."

"Liar."

"No, really."

He didn't fancy telling Malfoy that he had been staring at a letter written by his dead godfather for who knew how long without having the guts to open it!

Unfortunately, he was even a worse liar than he thought, because Malfoy replied sarcastically:

"Sure. And I was avoiding my ex-friends because we picked flowers for the Dark Lord and we fought over who would have the great honour to actually give them to him. "

"Well, that explains it all."

"Yeah it does."

"What kind of flowers does Voldemort like best, anyway?"

"It doesn't matter, as long as they're pink."

"Really?"

They both smirked, as Ron and Hermione entered. Looking back from Malfoy to Harry, they stopped at the door, looking bemused. Draco just rolled his eyes and said:

"Nothing to worry about, we were just joking around about the Dark Lord and flowers. Wanna sit down and join us?"

Ron and Hermione hesitated a while longer. Sitting down with Malfoy? Definitely not something they wanted to do. But the alternative, leaving Harry alone with the Slytherin boy, just wasn't acceptable. And apparently Harry planned to stay.

Looking uncertainly at the scarhead boy , Ron slowly entered the compartment and sat down next to his best friend, his eyes never laying off of Malfoy. Hermione sat next to him, closest to the door.

Harry rolled his eyes too, not noticing that he was behaving like Malfoy earlier, and began talking to his friends.

By the end of the journey, even if the ambiance was still heavy, Ron was playing chess with Malfoy (after having beaten Harry five times in a row and boasting of it loudly, Malfoy had stated that everybody could play Potter, and Harry had dared him to play Ron).

Hermione was reading an advanced potions textbook borrowed from Malfoy. At first, Malfoy had seemed disgusted at the idea that a 'mudblood' would touch his book, but then he had glanced at Harry, and said in a voice trying to sound casual 'sure you can, Granger'.

All in all, the trip went pretty well. When he wasn't surrounded by bodyguards, the blond boy was actually quite bearable. He seemed… small without them. Vulnerable.

Malfoy was trying to seem very confident all the time, but it was painfully obvious that he wasn't. Every time Hermione or Ron spoke to him he seemed to bite back his words, and while after playing chess with Ron (and not actually winning, but close enough for Ron to accept another dare) he seemed to ease up with him, he still wasn't comfortable around Hermione.

Which wasn't too surprising, considering. He had been taught from his earliest age to hate 'her kind', and the only fact that the major investigator of these thoughts was in jail wasn't enough to just erase them completely.

But he was trying, just like Ron was trying to ignore the little voice saying to him that this was the evil boy that had made him and his friends miserable the past five years. Just like Hermione who was trying very hard not to notice the disgusted look on the blond boy's face as she read his book.

The weirdest thing was that they were all behaving likewise. When one of them felt an urge to say something unkind to another (and it happened quite often, habits die hard) they glanced at Harry and bite it back.

He didn't really know what to think of that. His friends seemed to think he would go mad at them if they said something unkind to Malfoy. And it was quite funny, because he himself had to bite back some angry retorts or unkind things quite often too. When it happened, he just conjured the thought of Draco breaking down because all his classmates wanted to sale his head to The Dark Lord. Usually he disguised the remarks with sarcasm, grinning, and Draco grinned back.

While his friends seemed to think for some reason that he would be angry at them if they said something bad to Draco, that didn't explain why Draco gave him the same look. It was as if he was afraid that if he said something to one of Harry's friends, he would just be shoved out of the compartment, and back to the lions. Or rather in the snake's pit.

But when he saw Harry grinning at him after a not-so-gentle remark, he relaxed. And even let himself do the same.

Harry wondered what it would be like once out of their little compartment. They were together because Draco had needed a haven from his hunters. But once they were at Hogwards, there were plenty of places to hide, and he wouldn't need him anymore. Would they still be civil to each other, or would they go back to their old hatred? Friends or foe?

When the train stopped and they had to go to the castle, each of them seemed to be deep in thoughts, probably wondering the same thing.

And when they separated to go to their own tables, Harry made a decision. Slytherin or not, he wouldn't let Draco's head go anywhere without his body if he could help it. He took a good look at Draco and said:

"It was a pleasure meeting you, Draco Malfoy."

And he left the bemused boy gasping in surprise while he followed his friends to the Gryffindor table. He didn't miss, nor did he like, the calculating look the Headmaster gave him, certainly wondering if the Slytherin boy would be an asset or a liability.

He did miss, however, the _relieved_ look Snape gave him, seeing that his boy hadn't change yet.

So he didn't know. Yet.

And as much as it pained him, because a great part of him _wanted _the chance to try to be the boy's father, he should never let him know. At least not until the seemingly immortal bastard was dead forever.

He had to make sure Harry didn't read his letter. For both their sakes.

Because he was really the boy's father. The Healing Verity (a potion who mixed Healing potions and Veritaserum qualities) had given him all his memories back. It had made his hatred towards Black reach a point he hadn't even thought possible. The man had erased his Lily from his very mind. Lily. His dear Lily. The only human being he had ever been able to care about, to respect, to love…

With these memories, it stroke him how much he had lost. How much his life could have been different… Lily planned to leave the bastard, they were going to live together, to have a son…

He would have had a family. Him, Lily and Harry. And perhaps other children…

Now he could only daydream about that perfect life. He could picture them (Lily and their three or even four children) waiting for him at night to arrive from work, kissing him goodnight, looking at him without loathe or hatred in their beautiful green eyes, but with love.. and himself watching them grow with pride.

But because of Black, this would never be. Because of him, his Lily was dead, dead without even remembering him, and himself had become a cold bastard, alone and cynic, and Harry had been forced to live with these damned muggles, which according to Black didn't treat him like a Golden Boy at all…

So much lost. And now it was too late. Black didn't know how cruel he was when he send those letters. Some truths were better left unknown. How good was it that Snape knew Harry was his son now? He couldn't even acknowledge him. It was too dangerous.

He had to stay Albus' spy, and Harry Potter had to remain an annoying Golden Boy, bearing the hopes of the light side.

But now, he knew. And it hurt to know. To remember Lily, just to grieve her. Lily, who would never be smiling softly anymore. Lily, who would have hated the man he had become.

Lily, whose eyes still looked at him through their son… their son who hated him.

Why did the mutt had to tell him the bloody truth now? Just to ease his conscience before he died? _If he wasn't dead already… _

If the man wasn't dead already, he would kill him. And enjoy it. W_hy did you have to die? And I wasn't even there to see it. Pity._

The welcoming meal was ending. He had to act now. Before Harry had time to read that bloody letter. Slowly, he rose and walked to the Gryffindor table, where his son was preparing to leave, and demanded in his coldest voice:

"Potter, a moment of your precious time, if you will."

The boy looked at him with so much hatred in his eyes that he _almost_ flinched.

Well, that answered the question that had been in his mind since he read the bloody letter. If the boy didn't hate him before, like Black said, he certainly did now. Getting their godfather killed tented to do that to people...

The boy rose and followed him without a word.


	3. duty

**Disclaimer:** Everything you recognise is J.K.Rowling's property. This story is a response to the Severitus Challenge.

**Chapter three: duty **

Snape sighed, relieved. It could have gone worse. He had lead Harry to his office, warded it with silencing charms, then stunned the confused boy and cast a summoning charm for the letter.

As he thought, the boy had the letter on him. Stupid emotional Gryffindor. He took it and, mimicking the mutt's handwriting, wrote a similar (thought this one didn't hold any major secret and only said to the boy not to feel responsible for his death and to live happily forever. Very Gryffindish).

He then replaced it on the boy's pocket, cast Enervate, and asked the even more confused boy:

"Are you alright Potter?" he asked, sneering.

"Yes, why wouldn't I be?" asked back his son, clearly confused.

"Why, I don't know, perhaps because you just _fainted_ on my floor. Wasn't the food good enough for you boy? Had to starve yourself just to show off?"

_Yes, that's it Severus. Insult him so much that he will even forget why he came here and leave without you having to make up an excuse for wanting to see him on the first day of school. _

"Did you wanted to see me for something, or was it just because you had to _pass your nerves on someone?"_

_Shit. Now I've got to find something. _

"Don't you take that tone with me boy! I wanted you to come here so that we may discuss your potions lessons."

"What about them, _sir_?"

"Professors McGonagall and Dumbledore were rather adamant that you had to take it even though you didn't get the needed grade. Now, as your grade wasn't so bad - an Exceeds Expectations wasn't really what I expected from you - I agreed to allow you in my NEWT class if you take Remedial Potions. Real ones this time. Every Thursdays night, at eight o'clock. Agreed?"

_Plus, it will give me the opportunity to get to know my child without him suspecting anything. And with a little luck, he will discover himself a taste for potions… it's almost a genetic occurrence in the family… _

"Do I have a choice?"

"Not if you wish to become an Auror."

"Then I don't."

_WHAT?_

"I beg your pardon?"

"If it means meeting with you once a week so that you may make fun of my _dead_ _father_ and _godfather_ while teaching me _nothing_ more than any book, and perhaps **less**, I'll just think of something else to do with my life!"

"(…)"

_Oh Merlin. The boy despises me so much that he would prefer change his career plan than spend some time with me. What was I thinking? Even if Voldemort was gone, we could never be father and son. _

_Wait a minute Severus, _he told himself. _Have you given him any reason to think that you would use these lessons for something else than taunt him about his "dead father and godfather"? _

_Right. So it's up to me to change that._

_Whatever you decide you should answer something, the boy is wondering about your state of mind… _

"…?"

"Don't use that tone with me boy! I am willing to offer you a chance even if you didn't score the right OWL result! I agreed to teach you on my own free time just so that you may become what you want. I expected you to be at least a little grateful. "

"Oh yes, I'm sure you did it in a good-hearted move. No offense, _sir, _but you're a Slytherin to the bone. You never do anything without a selfish purpose! You're probably missing our old Remedial Potions when you used to taunt me about my father's death! I'm sure you're glad Sirius is dead too! It gives you something new to taunt me about!"

_Merlin, if only you knew what he did to us, you would be glad he's dead too… _

"I'm sorry to disappoint you Mr Potter, but the whole world doesn't turn around your selfish person. While I may not have loved the mutt, I rather regret his unfortunate death."

_Unfortunate that I wasn't the one to kill him, he added silently in his head._

"Sure you do. "

"Believe it or not, Potter, I'm not such a cold-hearted bastard."

"…"

"…"

_Merlin, that's what he thinks of me!_

"Sir, what did Sirius wrote you a letter about?"

_Oh-Oh… _

"Oh, to apologise for his past mistakes. It seems that your reaction after the Pensieve incident made him realise certain things…"

"Oh. "

"Yes?"

"Nevermind. Well, I'm tired so can I please go back to Gryffindor Tower sir?"

"You may. "

Yes, it could have been a lot worse indeed. He had managed to replace the blasted letter, so his secret was safe…

Still, one thing bothered him. It had been too easy. The boy hadn't even seemed surprised to learn that he had fainted on the floor. But Severus knew the boy _had_ eaten that night. An incredibly large amount of food for someone so thin.

Was the boy so accustomed to _faint_ that it didn't even surprised him anymore? Perhaps he had thought he was having a vision from the Dark Lord? But you couldn't get a vision while stunned, of that he was nearly sure.

And the child's reaction when he mentioned the Pensieve incident was priceless. Guilt, shame, anger, sadness all clearly written in his face for a few seconds, then quickly an emotionless face worthy of a Snape, only letting out a seemingly disinterested "oh"…

It didn't matter. He had the bloody letter, his secret was safe. He would never be anything more to the child that his hated potion professor, and that was fine with him.

But that wouldn't prevent him from getting to know his son. These Remedial Potions were an idea that just popped into his head and he would use it. The boy was terrible at potions. And no boy of his could be that bad in the subject! Not if he had a word to say about this!

Furthermore, it would give him time with him, to study him, to let him know that perhaps he didn't hate him… and hopefully to learn more about his muggle guardians.

Because Voldemort or not, he wasn't going to let his son being mistreated if it was indeed the case…

Snape was wrong about one thing. He hadn't fooled Harry at all with his stupid story about fainting. _Fainting, really! Did he expect me to buy that?_

Well, he hadn't. He clearly remembered hearing Snape saying "_Stupefy"_ before he fell unconscious.

What he couldn't understand was why. The man didn't make any sense for him. Why inviting him in his rooms only to stun and then revive him, making up some story about him fainting on the floor, then trying to talk to him about _Remedial Potions_ of all things…

Perhaps Snape's conscience was finally getting at him and it was his way of apologising for the way he treated Sirius last year. Maybe getting Harry to think he had fainted on the floor and then helping him up was just some Slytherin plot to make him look _nice_ enough for Harry to believe he was sincere.

But if it was the case, wouldn't he have at least try to be nice, and not act like his usual moody-self?

Whatever was going on within the other's head, he didn't have the will to find out. He had much more important matters to think about.

The prophecy, for example.

Which stated that he could either die or become a murderer. What a choice! He sure didn't want to die, but the mere thought of having to kill…

He valued life above everything. If he didn't, maybe Sirius would have been freed two years ago… if he didn't hate the thought of murder, he would have let Sirius and Remus kill Peter.

But he hadn't.

And even if he knew that it meant Sirius had had to hide, he couldn't bring himself to really regret it.

Would he have been able to get close to a free Sirius, if he had seen him cold-heartedly murdering an old friend?

Would he still be able to respect his former DADA teacher if he hadn't prevented him from becoming a murderer, just in front of three kids?

He didn't think so.

And just the same, he knew he could never live with himself if he killed someone, even Voldemort. Even if the dark wizard wasn't really human anymore. Even if he wasn't really living… he couldn't bring himself to kill him.

Because he knew that he hadn't always been like that. He had known the teenager Tom Riddle through Ginny's diary. And while the boy he had seen was already truly evil, he was undoubtedly_ human._

And the more Harry thought about it, the more he realised it wasn't even really Tom's fault if he was a dark wizard.

He was an orphan, just like himself. Left to an orphanage since his birth. Without knowing anything about his family, apart from the fact that his father's name was the same as his, and that his mother was dead while he was born…

Then, just like him, he had discovered he was a wizard and gone to Hogwarts. There, he was sorted in Slytherin, probably laughed at by his schoolmates because he was a half-blood… perhaps even believing himself to be a muggle-born. And of course, suspected by the other houses to be a dark wizard, like every Slytherin… Then, he must have found out that he was indeed Salazar Slytherin very heir… and decided to take revenge.

How could Harry not pity him? That was a man who had lost himself. Who had perhaps never been loved by anyone. Was that why he needed followers? To make him believe he could indeed be loved, adored, glorified?

He was an orphan due to the narrow-mindedness of a muggle, just as Harry was an orphan because of a Dark Wizard. Was it so surprising that they had both directed their hatred towards the kind that destroyed their childhood?

And Harry was the one who had to end this. But he didn't want to. _As if it mattered whether I want to or not…"_

The next day, he figured that perhaps, it _did _matter.

Their first class of the day was Care of Magical Creatures with Hagrid. Not much students had picked this class for their NEWT, but Harry, Ron and Hermione had, mostly to show support to their half-giant friend.

Since so few sixth-year students still took it, there was only one class, composed of all houses (even Slytherin, by one member, Blaise Zabini).

The trio were the only Gryffindor apart from Neville. At first, they had been rather surprised that the shy boy had chosen to keep on with the most dangerous class, but Neville explained that McGonagall advised him to, because with his gift in Herbology and a good knowledge of magical creatures, he could become a great groundkeeper. He liked the idea.

For NEWT class, Hagrid was apparently more cautious. For instance, before introducing a new "friend", he would give them a theory lesson about it.

Today, he was talking about _Ysalamari. _Harry wasn't really paying attention, having much more to think about, but when he caught some words about what these creatures could do, he froze.

Apparently, these creatures were feared in the wizarding world because they were able to suck the magic out of someone. Harry's first thought was that his uncle would love to acquire one, but soon another filled his mind.

_There is the solution! If I could just make Voldemort become a Muggle, I wouldn't have to kill him! _

So he listened very fervently to this lesson.

Hermione, noticing the suddenly intent look on Harry's face, frowned. Harry had been very silent this far. He no longer seemed interested in anything, but preoccupied, and depressed. Of course, it was nothing unexpected - the depressed part anyway.

He had just lost someone he loved. Worse, he had seen him die, right in front of him. She couldn't imagine what it could be like. And coupled with what Harry had already been through… and staying with those horrid people afterwards! No wonder he felt depressed.

But she really hadn't a clue of what he was preoccupied about. And apparently it had something to do with today's lesson, for it was the first time in days that he seemed really interested in something happening around him.

Harry, for his part, was soon disappointed. Apparently, these creatures only sucked the magic while they were around. It returned as soon as they were gone. Still, it could be useful if he could bring some in his next meeting with Voldie and his crowd…

As soon as the class ended, Hermione asked Harry:

"You really seemed interested in today's class. Any particular reason?"

"Well, just thought it might be fun if Voldemort became a Muggle. Wouldn't work thought, these things are only temporary."

"…"

"Hermione?"

"Excuse me, just remembering something. Harry, it's really a great idea. I wonder why nobody ever thought of it before… I've got to check something in the library!"

As soon as she was gone, Harry shared a disbelieving look with Ron. Some things never changed…


	4. how to get rid of a freak, lesson one

**Disclaimer:** Everything you recognise is J.K.Rowling's property. This story is a response to the Severitus Challenge.

**Chapter four: how to get rid of a freak, lesson one**

Hermione sighed disbelievingly at the text before her. Yes, to take You-Know-Who's powers away and make him a muggle had been a great idea. It even was a _feasible_ one.

In theory at least.

But in reality…

When Harry had mentioned his idea, she had cursed herself for not thinking about it before. She remembered reading about it in third year, when she had been taken aback by the fact that Dementors were used to guard prisoners.

Then, she learned that the Dementors weren't an old race, and had in fact been created by Salazar Slytherin, who thought the current mean of dealing with prisoners was inadequate.

At the time, convicted wizards were dispossessed of their powers, remaining simple muggles.

Apparently, it had almost happened to Salazar's older sister and he hadn't tolerated the idea of being related to a muggle, therefore searching for another way to punish criminals. A way no less cruel.

The Dementors.

Centuries later, the potion allowing to deprive someone of their magical skills had been classified as Dark Arts and forgotten.

Could it be the mean to end Voldemort? Yes, it was Dark Arts, and while it didn't take the will to kill or hurt like the Unforgivable spells, it did required a true wish to see a man banished from the magical world.

Which shouldn't be too difficult a feeling to have when it came to You-Know-Who.

No, the only real problem she saw was the form of the curse. A potion. She really couldn't see how anyone could make Voldemort drink it. And she feared that if Harry learned about it, he would take it upon himself to try.

And it wasn't right. It wasn't their war. It was their parents' (well, not hers, but Harry's, Ron's, Neville's, even Malfoy's…). They had nothing to do with it. Yes, it was Harry who ended it all those years ago. But not really in fact. It was more his mother, her sacrifice…

Not their war. It was a war that had began nearly forty years ago. It was Dumbledore's war.

And whatever he could say, it certainly wasn't Harry's.

Yet he acted as if it was upon himself to kill the madman!

But it wasn't! Voldemort was a very powerful wizard, and the only one who seemed powerful enough to defeat him was Dumbledore.

After all, he had already beaten up Grindelwald, why not his successor?

All Harry should have to worry about was his NEWTs, and he wouldn't have any other encounter with Voldemort if she had anything to say about it.

Taking her decision, she walked towards the Headmaster's office.

After Hermione's abruptly departure, Ron dared Harry to a game of chess, but he refused. He had something to do.

Wearing his invisibility cloak, he went to the astronomy tower and sat under the early night sky. There, before changing his mind again, he quickly opened Sirius' letter.

It said:

_Harry,_

_If you read this it means I'm dead, and that I can't take care of you anymore. Not that I really do while alive…_

_I just wanted you to know that I care a lot about you and that I want you to be happy. Don't be too sad over my unfortunate death. My life is pretty meaningless at the moment. All I can do is hide in that awful house and worry about you. Not much!_

_And while I do hope that one day I'll be free, I know it won't be before the end of this war. So help me Harry, kill this ugly bastard and free my memory if I'm already gone… and then you will be able to really enjoy your life, in peace. _

_Until then, take care of yourself and be patient. I know we expect a lot from you (yes, I'm aware of the prophecy, in vague terms at least) but hold onto the thought that one day, it will all be over. One day, you'll wake up in the morning and have just wonderful things to do…_

_I wish you a wonderful life. _

_Love,_

_Sirius _

After reading his letter, Harry just sat there for a while, taking in Sirius' last words to him. Somehow it made it real. He was dead. Dead. And he wasn't coming back. Ever.

Since that awful day when he had seen him fall through the veil, one thing bothered him most. He hadn't have any chance to say goodbye. To tell Sirius how much he meant to him.

But Sirius had. And somehow, he felt a little better. Glancing at the sky, to the star he knew to be Sirius, he smiled, while silent tears ran on his cheeks.

Albus Dumbledore was sitting at his desk, thinking. There was something going on, and he had to figure it out.

He wasn't accustomed to being left in the dark, and when it happened he really didn't like it. Especially when it had to do with his most trustful co-workers and friends.

Severus wasn't an open man, but usually he told his old mentor when something was bothering him. But not this time. Albus could tell something was on his mind, but he didn't know what! And Sev wouldn't tell…

Should he push him to confess, or just let him come when he was ready?

A gentle buzz interrupted his dilemma, telling him that someone was trying to guess the entrance's password by giving the gargoyle all kinds of sweets' names.

Sighing, he waved at the entrance door with his wand and a nervous-looking girl entered the room. He put a false smile on his face and offered her a sorbet lemon, which she refused.

"Miss Granger! What can I do for you? "

_What does she want? I hope it's not some rubbish question about school marks because I'm really not in the mood! Doesn't she knows I'm a busy man? _

"Good evening Headmaster. I just thought of something that might work but I'm not sure…"

_Great, a babbling one. _He forced himself to appear patient.

"That might work for what, my dear?"

"To stop V-V-Voldemort, sir. It might work to stop him from harming anybody else."

"Really? Well, let's hear it, shall we?"

"Have you thought of the _Ysalar Draught_ sir?"

_Ok, perhaps I've underestimated her. Goodness, the girl is too clever for her own good! This potion is unknown of the most part. Even I didn't think about it since I was a curious student! It's Dark Arts, for Merlin's sake! I won't have young girls babbling about forgotten Darks potions in my school. _

"The _Ysalar Draught? _Where did you learn of such a thing?"

He asked to gain time, and recover unnoticeably from his shock.

"…"

"You wouldn't have used your time turner to access the Reserve back in your third year, per chance?"

"…"

"Smart girl. Back to the matter, no, I never really gave it any thoughts. But that's an idea… "

And indeed, it was. The problem was that it was a potion affecting the body, and Voldemort had already proved that he could change bodies if the one he was in proved unsuitable - as would a muggle one.

"The problem is, sir, how could we bring You-Know-Who to take the potion?

"Yes. And would it prevent his followers to renew the rite, therefore allowing their Master to take another body, one non-magical-blocked? "

"Oh. I didn't think of that. Yes, I suppose it's quite useless in this case. Well, goodnight sir, sorry to have bothered you."

_You can! _

"Nonsense. You're welcome to get here the second you have another idea like this. Good night."

She returned to Gryffindor tower in a very bad mood, angry towards herself. Of course Voldemort could just begin all over again! It was his soul that needed to be killed, not his body! Every spell harming, killing or disabling the body was useless.

_Think! _She told herself. _You've read about thousands of spells and charms and potions. Isn't there anything that would do the same to the soul that this potion does to the body? _

She sat there for what seemed hours, alone in the common room long after everyone had gone to bed. Only Ron stayed with her, but she barely noticed. She was more disappointed than the day she earned an A in her astronomy's OWL. This time she had been so sure this was it. The mean of ending Voldemort's threat. Without actually killing him, which made her uneasy.

And even if it presented difficulties, such as How to make him actually drink the bloody potion, it had been a start.

But now there was nothing. Nothing left. Even less than before. Because now, she knew that killing the evil wizard wasn't even a solution, because he could take another body again. It was his soul that had to be killed, and that made her even more uneasy than the thought of killing his body.

To destroy a soul… it was Dementorish.

When Harry came back in Gryffindor, it was quite late, and he expected the common room to be empty. Instead, he found Ron and Hermione sitting in front of the hearth.

When he heard him come, Ron glanced at him hopelessly, then looked at Hermione. For the last hour, he had tried to make her talk, explain what happened to put her in such a haze, but to no avail.

But now Harry was back, so he would as usual make her laugh, or smile at least, or both. So he didn't even have to stay there, he would only be in their way. Cerebrals meetings… he had better leave!

But as he made his way to the stairs, Hermione's hand suddenly grabbed his and forced him to sat back next to her.

Harry, too, sat on her opposite side, and waited for her to speak. When she didn't, he asked:

"So, did you found what you wanted?"

"No," she answered simply, looking away.

"Oh. And what was it? If it's so important, maybe we can help you," he answered back, and Ron nodded eagerly, as if hours of library search was his life's dream.

"It's useless. Everything I can think of is useless!"

She suddenly got up and began pacing back and fourth between the two, whispering:

"I thought maybe you had found the way, Harry. To end this war without killing anyone. What you said made me think of an old potion I once read of. The Ysalar Draught. It was meant to deprive someone of his or her magical abilities. Used on criminals… before Dementors were created.

"But, apart from the fact that Voldemort would have to drink it, it would be useless on him. Yes, the body he's currently in would be magic-less, but what could prevent him from doing the rite again, like in fourth year, and acquire another?

"The only thing that could definitely kill him would be if a Dementor sucked his soul, but no one can control them! And I'm not even sure _that_ would really work. And it would be horrible. Worse than killing him.

"Nothing can get in his way. Nothing I can think of can stop him. I'm useless!"

With that, she sat back between them, and began crying on Ron's shoulders, who stared blankly at her hair, then timidly patted her head.

Harry's mind was on everything she said. Yes, they were doomed. Hermione was right. All they could do was destroy again and again the bodies he would be in, gaining a little peace between two…

Well, if it was the only thing he could do, he would. How much time of peace would it get them until the Death Eaters renewed the blood rite? If he somehow could make the potion (and it had to be difficult), then found the mean to make the Bastard drink it?

And how many times would Wormtail agree to give up a hand, or a leg, or anything… just to allow his master to revive…

He suddenly had an ugly thought. Wormtail, all covered by scars and silver members. Ugh.

At least he could perhaps prevent Voldemort to take his blood this time, so he wouldn't be as powerful as he was now.

That sounded like the beginning of a plan.

Because if he couldn't bring himself to kill the evil bastard, he certainly couldn't even think of the possibility of using the Dementors. A horrifying vision engulfed him. Himself, bringing thousands of Dementors in a Death Eater's meeting, then laughing hysterically while one of the freaks sucked Tom Riddle's soul… no. No way.

On the sofa, Hermione had fallen asleep in Ron's shoulder, who seemed quite happy to hold her, so Harry left them and went to sleep. He wouldn't find the answer tonight.

Or perhaps he would. As he entered his dormitories, he saw the invisible cloak of his father on top of his trunk, and decided that a little look at the Potion section in the library was in order…


	5. where a plan slowly begins to form

**Disclaimer:** Everything you recognise is J.K.Rowling's property. This story is a response to the Severitus Challenge.

**Chapter five: where a plan slowly begins to form**

Harry glanced sadly at his timetable, as if hoping it would change if he stared at it long enough. It was hopeless, however. Each time he looked at it, it read the same. He had double potion first thing in the morning. And Remedial Potion in the afternoon. Which meant really too much Snape for one day.

Sighing, he quickly finished his breakfast and followed Hermione to the dungeons. It wouldn't improve things to be late on the first day…

"Quiet, class. NEWT potions require extreme concentration and good will. If you are not capable of such a thing" - he briefly glanced in Harry's direction, which annoyed him to no end -" then you will either learn to or leave.

"Today we will _theorize_ about Polyjuice potion, then begin to make it.

"FINNIGAN! How long does it take to make a standard Polyjuice potion?" He snapped suddenly at the dozing boy.

"… Two weeks?"

"Is that supposed to be an answer or a question?"

"It was an answer, sir."

"Then formulate it like one next time! And no, you may not make efficient Polyjuice potion in two weeks, unless you take the appearance of a close blood relative. I asked about _standard_ Polyjuice Potion. Miss Granger, while I'm sure you have a lovely hand, it is not necessary to exhibit it while I'm speaking! Five points from Gryffindor for your arrogance. So you think you know the subject so much better than me that you should be allowed to speak while I am?"

"No, I just…"

"And five more points for speaking out of turn. Should I go on? Next time you open your mouth without being asked to it will be ten!"

The entire class was staring malevolently at him (well, everyone but his precious Slytherins anyway). Really, taking points off because one _raised her hand_? That was rude, even for Snape.

"Now, where was I? Standard or Lambda Polyjuice takes an entire month to be successfully brewed. Which is its principal downside. Mr Potter, care to leave your little daydream to quote me another?"

"It must be taken every hour to be effective. Sir. "

"Right", Snape said in disgust.

He had been so sure to show the boy that he hadn't his place in this class with this question… but he wasn't finished.

He would make the boy pay for being the cause of his insomnia last night, even if he wasn't even aware of it.

"As you seem to have some knowledge of this potion, surely you can tell me…"

And he spent the rest of the first part of class to quiz him on the standard polyjuice potion. In spite of himself, he felt quite proud of his son for knowing so much about that particular potion. Of course, Potter would know about the potion, having heard of it with Moody's disaster in his fourth year, but apparently he had researched the matter…

However, as he left Lambda Polyjuice and quizzed about the other forms, he realised that Potter didn't know about these. However, he did seem genuinely interested - more than he usually was in potion class.

"As I already said earlier, the Relative one takes only two weeks to make and must be taken by a close blood relative to be effective.

"There are many other forms, but the one you must know about is the Veritas Polyjuice, for it may be a good subject for a NEWT."

He waited to see the 'magical' effect of this words, and wasn't disappointed. Every one of those prats had now their eyes locked on him, ready to absorb each word he would pronounce as if their lives depended on it.

He sneered, before resuming in his utmost carelessly voice:

"Of course, very few of you could actually brew it correctly on their first attempt, and many would actually make it either useless, or lethal."

He sneered even wider when he saw several students pale at the last bit. It was his habit to make the students taste their own brewing…

Then he snorted. As if he would make them drink something lethal! They should know that he would recognise a misbrewed one… unless they expected him to make them drink it in purpose.

He didn't know if he was more hurt and disgusted because they could think this low of him, or pleased at the obvious proof that his act of a heartless bastard was good enough.

"The Veritas Polyjuice takes a week and a half to brew, but is much more complicated than the Lambda one, because it makes the drinker act unconsciously like the _polyjuiced_, mimicking his or her walking, accent, writing... and even gives strong hints, or intuitions, as to how the _mimicked_ would react in one particularly familiar situation. It also gives the drinker some of the magical abilities of the person he is taking the appearance of. Yes, Mr Nott?"

"Sir, does it mean that if someone were to make the potion from a Death Eater, it would give them the ability to feel the Dark Mark?"

"Exactly. Ten points to Slytherin."

He sneered again. How he hated the small brat! To talk about such a thing in his _classroom, _while his father had tortured and killed some of his students relatives, baring the exact same damn mark! And in a room full of Gryffindors, no less! _I just hope this won't give them any bad ideas… _

"However, there are a few downsides in this remarkable concoction, the main being that it won't work if the one who takes it has bad intention towards the copied subject. For example, it cannot be used to incriminate someone else of a crime one's commits, because it would detect wrong will and instead have ill effects towards the taker.

"It is this one you will attempt to brew today. You will complete the first stage in the next hour or have detention with me tomorrow evening to do it. I _suggest_ you begin quickly."

With that, he carelessly waved his hand at the blackboard which now listed the ingredients and several advices as to which of them really didn't like to be mixed… As for how to proceed, sixth year Potion class should be able to guess, or leave.

He then sat at his desk and began grading essays.

Halfway through a first year Hufflepuff pathetic essay, he heard a soft 'pluff' and glanced to see Finingan's potion beginning to stir, taking an dark kind of orange (which at this stage, meant upcoming disaster), and began to utter a spell to shield the nearest students, but the explosion never happened, and instead he saw Malfoy throwing a disbelieving look at Harry, who just sighed in return, and smiled. Malfoy shook his head disbelievingly and Harry returned to his potion.

He made a mental note to himself to get an answer to that tonight in Remedial Potion. He smirked at the thought. If he was right, the boy didn't really needed it as much as he had thought.

The rest of Harry's day passed by quickly, and Harry was almost happy to leave the common room at eight to go to the dungeons. Not that he was eager to meet with Snape, but since the previous night, Ron and Hermione seemed to be walking on eggshells and it was beginning to annoy him.

So he left eagerly and was almost two minutes early when he arrived in front of the classroom's door. Knocking firmly twice, he awaited a few seconds then heard Snape call "_Enter!" _and so he did.

There, looking his usual snappy-self, stood his most loathed professor (well, not counting his previous DADA teachers). He closed the door behind him then stepped inside.

"So, you finally decided to grace me with you presence, Potter?" he sneered loudly.

Then, waving his wand, he cast strong silencing charms around the room and added:

"Well, don't just stand there like an idiot! I've gotten quite enough food at the Great Hall today, I have no intention to eat a sixteen-year-old for pudding. Sit down."

Once Harry had sat down on the nearest chair, he continued more softly.

"So, how did you know that adding powdered dragon teeth would prevent Finningan's potion to blow up?"

"I _read it somewhere"._

"Really?"

"Yes, _really. _What, you did not expected me to know how to read?"

Snape was beginning to lose his patience. He had attempted to be patient towards the boy, but if he was trying to start a fit, he would have it.

"I am perfectly aware that you know how to read, as I have to mark those pitiful assignments of yours. What I've got a little trouble to understand is _why _would you _willingly _read a book about potions, as you've never expressed a knack for it before."

"Perhaps I would have if you hadn't make sure I hated potions lessons ever since my first day of school! Just because I look like my father and that he did awful things to you doesn't make it right to hate me for my looks!"

"Stop being so arrogant, Potter! I do not hate you! I merely dislike you, but I was willing to change my opinion with those lessons before you started to get angry just because of a rightful inquisition!

"Believe it or not, I was serious when I told you I wouldn't use this time to make fun of you and your ghosts, even if I can't really promise that it won't come up in a conversation. They're just as tied to you as Moarning Myrtle is to her toilets…

"Whenever I look at you I keep seeing James Potter and…"

He stopped, seeing that Harry wasn't listening anymore and seemed lost in thoughts. He fumed. He was trying to open up to the boy and he wasn't even listening to him?

"LISTEN TO ME when I'm talking to you BOY!"

"Sorry uncle Vernon" Harry answered automatically, but he still didn't seem to be listening.

If he had been paying attention, he would have seen his father's face paling slightly.

But he wasn't. He had other things to think about, like how to finish The Dark Lord, as the man's words echoed in his mind. " They're just as tied to you as Moarning Myrtle is to her toilets…" Of course! Why hadn't he thought about it earlier?

Ghosts were tied to a place. And ghosts were pretty much the 'soul' of dead people, weren't they?

So all he had to do was to figure out how to _tie _Voldemort's soul to his body, so that he couldn't leave it if he somehow lost his magical abilities and became a squib.

And that would involve research about the ghosts first. He vaguely wondered if the books about soul's bonding would be in the restricted section, then quickly thought against it. Why bother with books when you could gain the same information quicker from another source?

Oblivious to his father calling his name frankly, then shaking him by the shoulders, all the time calling "Potter! Po- Harry! Harry!" he finally came out from his little world with the firm intention of going straight for Mourning Mirtle's bathroom.

However, he was quite startled to see the worried face of his potions professor right in front of him, and even more when he heard the words he said:

"Harry, are you alright?"

"Huh. Yeah. I think so. Excuse me sir, what were you saying? I'm afraid I was a little off for a moment here."

"A little off. A LITTLE OFF? I called your name dozens of _bloody times, _and all you said was 'sorry uncle Vernon'!"

At that, Harry wondered. There was no way in world he could have mistaken Snape with Vernon! He hadn't been _that _off? Had he?

And why the hell was his teacher's voice shaking? He quickly got the answer:

"Anyway, what were you thinking about? Did you have a vision from The Dark Lord?"

Well, if Snape had thought he was having a vision, it could explain the unsteady voice, he supposed.

"No, I was just thinking."

"And you're incapable of thinking and listening at the same time? Even when I'm screaming your name in your ears?"

"I guess I was thinking very deeply"

"I had gathered that much. Would you care to share the subject of your 'deep thinking'?"

"Not until I'm sure it could work… look, sir, I'm really sorry that I didn't listen to you, but could we please report this session to tomorrow? There's something I really have to do right now."

"And how can I be sure you didn't just have a vision and decided to take it upon your little hero-self to go save someone that doesn't need to?"

"I'll be staying in the castle, I swear. Do I have to make a Wizard's Oath or will you just let me _leave!"_

He was losing patience. He _had_ to know if his idea was even possible, and Snape was in the way.

But he then thought that maybe Snape had just hand him up the perfect idea to finish Voldemort without having to become a murderer, sparing him perhaps months of research, so he quickly added a half-respectful "Sir".

Snape just looked at him for a long moment, sighed, then mentioned for the door. As Harry was leaving, he heard his teacher saying

"Tomorrow, same hour"

And then he was outside of the classroom. Not believing his luck (and that he'd just willingly signed for another torture session for tomorrow evening), he ran to the girl's bathroom.


	6. where old grudges get in the way

**Disclaimer:** Everything you recognise is J.K.Rowling's property. This story is a response to the Severitus Challenge.

**Chapter six: where old grudges get in the way **

The following morning, as usual, an owl bought Hermione her copy of the Daily Prophet. Harry didn't pay any attention to it, until he heard her drop her spoon suddenly. Glancing at her he saw how pale she had become and took the journal without a word when she lent it to him. On the cover, there was a huge picture of the dark mark hovering over a burning house.

_"Late last night, the Dark Mark was seen above the house of the Trand family. Aurors were sent and discovered the body of Mr Trand, apparently killed by an Avada Kedavra. His wife, was incoherent due to the Cruciatus Curse. St Mungo's Healer thinks there may be irreparable damage to her brain._

_Their daughter, six years old, witnessed the torture of her mother and the murder of her father hidden in a small cupboard. She is unharmed._

_Mrs Trand is the daughter of Hogwards Deputy Headmistress, Professor McGonagall. The Daily Prophet offers its most sincere condolences for her loss… "_

Harry felt sick. He dared glanced at the Head table and wasn't surprised to see that McGonagall wasn't there. He had to get out. Without waiting for Ron and Hermione, he stood and walked out in the fresh air.

He felt like he had a troll seating in his chest. Or rather the world weighting on his shoulders. He was the one with the power to end it all. Until he did, Voldemort would go on with the massacres, tortures and murders. He had to find a way. And fast. He just couldn't stand to do nothing.

"Harry?" Hermione's voice startled him. He hadn't heard her coming.

"All right Harry? I know it's awful, but we've got to go to class now. Come on."

She was right, he knew that. But he couldn't help thinking that learning how to plant a Phyteryne wasn't going to help in the final battle.

As soon as class finished, he headed to the library to continue his research.

His little chat with Moarning Myrtle hadn't gone very well. She had been very pleased to see him at first, then she had been angry that he didn't come more often, and when he had asked her why she couldn't leave her toilets, she had cried that he only went to see her when he needed something.

After a while she calmed down a bit, and told him that she had been killed there and that she had awoken in the same place, and couldn't leave it, except by the water tunnels. But she didn't know anything else.

So, it looked like ghosts were automatically tied to the place they died in, without knowing how. Headless Nick, his next to interview, wouldn't know either, so no point in questioning him.

Harry sighed. It looked like he would have to involve Hermione after all. Which would probably be best, considering she was depressed because she couldn't find a spell that would work directly on Voldemort's soul…

However, he found himself strangely reluctant to do so. She would probably bring it all to Dumbledore, thinking it should be his job to finish the madman…

But it wasn't. It was _his_ job. Whether he liked it or not. But Hermione wouldn't understand that. Even if he told her the prophecy, she would say Divination was rubbish and that he should just study for his NEWTs and stop worrying about things, that adults would take care of everything…

Perhaps the answer would be in a book… and he didn't really need Hermione, after all. He _did_ know how to read, whatever Snape thought.

He had been in the library for nearly two hours now and still wasn't nearer to find something useful. In half an hour dinner would be served in the Great Hall, and after he had to go to his Remedial Potions with Snape.

Which reminded him of another riddle he had yet to solve. Snape. The ugly man had acted very strangely ever since the Welcoming Feast. First, the Stupefy incident. Then, last night… he had been odd, calling him Harry with concerned eyes, promising that their meetings wouldn't be used to insult him about his father and godfather…

He really didn't know what to make of that. It confused him. His relation with Snape had always been quite simple, because he always knew what his teacher felt for him. Hate. Pure, inalterable hate. And since Sirius' death, it was really mutual.

But now… the Potion Master certainly didn't look as if he hated him. Sure, he still insulted him at every occasion, sneered at him with loathe in his eyes… and yesterday's potion class certainly counted among the worst ever.

But there was something else. Sometimes at meals he could feel the man's eyes on him, quickly retiring when he tried to stare back.

And when he did caught his eyes, they were full of something he would never have associated with Snape: sadness, pain, regret…

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of someone clearing his throat. Looking up he saw the Malefoy heir looking very awkward. He raised an eyebrow questioningly and Malfoy said, trying to sound casual:

"Mind if I seat with you?"

Harry hesitated. He realised he didn't really mind to seat with Malfoy, and after all he _had_ implied that he would welcome the blond boy if he wanted to talk again…

On the other hand he was surrounded by books about ghosts and links and it could seem suspicious. If Malfoy asked why…

He really didn't know which side Malfoy was on. True, Voldemort may want his head, but he could be trying to get close to Harry just to bring him to his master and buy his place in the inner circle…

But if he really was trying to change, then Harry's rejection could throw him back at his father, and he wasn't ready to take the chance. So he said:

"Sure, sit down"

With a smirk, the blond complied, and began to work on his homework. Thankfully, he didn't say anything about Harry's choice of books, even if he did glance at it rather curiously.

A moment later, Harry had forgotten all about Malfoy, as he read one book's description of poltergeists:

_"Poltergeists, unlike ghosts, aren't automatically forced to reside upon the place they died in. Theoretically, they can go anywhere they want. However, this caused several problems with Muggles and a spell was invented in 1734 by Lord Alixas Meylar after several months of research._

_(…)_

_"However impossible to tie them to one place, it appeared that it is possible to form a magical bond between the poltergeist and a willing wizard. Said wizard will have the capacity to make it obey him, which is why poltergeists aren't really a problem anymore. _

_(…)_

_"The more interesting part of the spell is perhaps that it makes it possible to get rid of a poltergeist. If the wizard bonded to it dies, the bond fells upon his heir, and if he doesn't have any, the poltergeist will vanish. _

_(…)_

_"In the improbable case where the wizard becomes a ghost, he would still detain power over the poltergeist, but this power would be extremely limited in time. The poltergeist would still have to obey its 'master' for a few hours, but the order would have to be reiterated. _

_"The only known case of this resides in the school of Hogwards. Peeves the poltergeist was bonded to Baron Langfield, better known as "the Bloody Baron", ghost of the Slytherin House…"_

Well, that explained why the Bloody Baron was the only one able to give orders to Peeves…

But there was more. So, poltergeists could be tied, by a spell, to a wizard. The problem was, they were tied to the soul of the wizard, not their body. So it wouldn't work on Voldemort to tie him to his snake-like body. Plus, Voldemort wasn't a poltergeist. Back at zero point.

Or perhaps not, he thought as he read the next chapter's title: "_Ghosts' link to their death bed"_. He read on:

_"Upon death, everyone has to choose his way. Many follow the unknown path, never to be seen by the living ones ever again. Those who left an uncompleted task will remain and take a ghost form, judged unprepared to take the next step. Lastly, those who died in a truly horrible way, with too much pain and sorrow to bear, will be changed into poltergeists, beings incapable of dark feelings such as hate, sadness or pain. _

_"Poltergeists, unlike ghosts, conserve some of their magic after the transformation. In 1678, the poltergeist Alan McMadnett (renamed Al Mad after his death) managed to use the Laniglia spell over his dead body, thus reintegrating it. He then pretended to be still alive during many years. The truth was only discovered because the dead body finally decayed. Alan tried for many years to break the spell again, but he couldn't, and was finally buried with his body, where he still resides."_

Interesting, Harry thought. This spell could well be what he was looking for! Linking one soul to one body, apparently forever if he were to trust the book… he would have to do more research.

"Found something?" Malfoy asked suddenly.

"Not really. Let's go to dinner, I'm famished!" he hastily replied.

Malfoy raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. Harry quickly put the books back in place and they went to dinner, separating only to go to their own table.

As he sat down, he earned a suspicious look from Hermione. He looked at her, daring her to say something, and she did.

"Where were you?"

"In the library."

"Doing what?"

"Homework. And if your next question is "with whom", the answer's Malfoy. Satisfied, mummy?"

"Fine, keep your secrets. Just be careful, Harry. We still don't know which side he's on."

"I know."

Then, he deliberately turned to ask something about Quidditch to Ron, who couldn't get tired of the subject once on it. He half-listened to his speech, then escaped as soon as possible for his meeting with Snape.

He couldn't stay near Hermione, too afraid she would figure everything out if he let on one little hint. And he couldn't let her, because she would want to be involved. And he couldn't risk anyone else's life. Not after Cedric. Not after Sirius…

But he did need someone else. He knew it. For his plan, his ridiculously daring plan, wouldn't work without the concur of the one he never dared to ask anything to: Snape.

Snape was the key. Harry had to go close enough to Voldemort with his wand to cast Laniglia on him. He had to make him drink a potion that would make him a squib. And all that wouldn't work if he went there as Harry Potter.

He had to go as Severus Snape. He had to brew Polyjuice Potion. And not a Lambda one, as Hermione had in second year, but the Veritas Polyjuice. Then, he would have to make Snape tell him when he felt the mark, then drink the potion and apparate.

There were many holes in his plan. First, how would he manage to make Snape help him, without involving Dumbledore, which he wanted to avoid? Second, he had to learn to apparate. Third, he had to brew two extremely complicated potions, or ask Snape to help him…

And he had to go to the snake's pit, cast a curse on Voldemort without being noticed (a curse he still had to learn!) and somehow making him drink willingly the potion…

Difficult, but perhaps not impossible.

The plan in itself was actually feasible. And Harry forced himself not to be concerned about the after scene…

When Voldemort would realise he had lost all magic…

When the Death Eaters would realise that he wasn't Snape… or worse, that he was a traitor.

What would they do to him, then? There would be lots of them, he couldn't fight them all…

What would they do to the one who destroyed their master? He didn't even want to think about it. That fear was the main reason why he didn't want to involve anyone else. His job done, it didn't really mattered what happened to him, did it?

He wouldn't allow the Department of Mysteries' fiasco to happen again. He wouldn't allow anyone else to die just to save his skin. Never again.

With these morbid thoughts in mind, he knocked at Snape's door a few minutes early. After all, for his daring plan he had to be able to brew two very complicated potions, and Snape seemed to be willing to teach him.

He silently promised himself not to repeat last year's occumency fiasco and to actually try to learn this time. And not to let his personal feelings for Snape get in the way.

The door opened and he stepped in, noticing Snape grading essays at his desk.

"You're early", he noticed.

"Yeah. Does it bother you?"

"Not at all. The earlier we begin, the earlier we're finished. Come in."

He mentioned for Harry to follow him in a little lab besides the office. The room was stern, dark and neat. _Just like Snape, _Harry thought.

"Today we'll work on Veritas Polyjuice, as yours wasn't really satisfying the other day."

_Great! One of the two I've gotta brew, and I didn't even have to ask him. With luck next week he'll ask if I wanna learn the Ysalar Draught… _

He realised that Snape was waiting for his answer, so he said:

"Yes sir".

Snape seemed surprised by his lack of indignation at the comment, but quickly recovered.

"Fine. Now begin. The instructions are on the table. Do try not to make anything explode. I'll be on my office grading stupid first year's essays if you need anything. You have an hour to do the first part. Proceed."

Then he left.

_Just my luck. The only time I have to ask him something he leaves me alone. _Well, at least he could practice the potion. He got to work.

He realised after a moment that he could actually quite enjoy potion brewing when Snape wasn't breathing on his neck. After what seemed to be only a moment but was actually nearly an hour, Snape came back. He stood in the back of the room, silently watching his son with something akin to pride.

Yes, his son was capable of potion brewing. He just got nervous when someone was around. Something they had in common. Severus liked to brew alone too.

And he seemed to enjoy himself. He remembered Lily, how she wouldn't understand how he could like just "throwing funny things into a big cauldron". What would she think if she saw their son now?

She would be proud, just like he was, he thought as Harry added the last ingredient with care. Then, having finished his job, he smiled and turned around to tidy up a little, and stopped dead, seeing Snape.

"How long were you here?" he asked worriedly.

"Long enough to know your job is much worse in class. Now why is that, Mr Potter? Craving so much the attention you have to blow up your cauldron to get it?"

"What should I say about you? Do you really like taunting me so much you even have to disguise your praises in insult?"

"Praises? I have no reason nor intention to praise you merely because you managed to brew an acceptable Polyjuice on the second try! You're in my NEWT class, Potter. I expect you to show some brewing abilities!"

"Well, I do, don't I, when you're not breathing on my neck! Oh, but right, you _were!"_

"I was not _breathing on your neck, _Potter. I merely wished to see how you were doing without any pressure, and now that I have, I fully expect you to show the same abilities in class! Now is that enough _praise_ for you? Do you want me to write down "_well done_" and sign it so that you may show it to your fellow Gryffindors? Proof of your ability to please every professor of this damned school? Do you want me to write to your caretakers to tell them how wonderful you are?"

"Don't you dare."

"And don't _You _dare talk to me like this, child. You may be the hero of the wizarding world, but that doesn't prevent you from showing respect to your elders. You're nothing more than an average student, lazier than most with an indecent amount of luck."

"I wish."

"You're nothing. You expect praises for every little thing you do, and you just go whining when you don't get it. You… "

"Stop it. I got it, okay? I know what you think about me, so no point of saying it. Or maybe you think you did such a great job with Sirius that you're trying the same technique with me? Hoping I'll jump off the Astronomy Tower if you…"

"ENOUGH! Fine! So your potion's great, you're a great little boy, and you have such lovely green eyes. You want more? You're my favourite student, I worship the ground you walk in, and I envy your friends because they've got your attention. Now GET OUT!"

He didn't need to be told twice.

Severus sighed. He hadn't mean to say any of that. He meant to let the boy know he had done a good job, without saying anything too suspicious… what a disaster it had been. It seemed that whenever Harry was there, he had an impulse to be mean, sarcastic and spiteful. He would have to work on that…

_I hate him I hate him I hate him! _

_Yes, but unfortunately you happen to need his help, and blowing up like that each time he makes a comment isn't gonna help… _said a little voice in his head.

_Then I'll just have to find another way!_

_He was just trying to tell you your potion was okay. _

Now the voice sounded too much like Hermione's.

_Couldn't he do it without the sarcasm and insult?_

_Probably not._

He thought about it for a second. What if the voice was right? What if Snape was so used to be alone that he didn't know anymore how to say something nice to someone?

_That's kinda sad, isn't it? He doesn't know how to praise someone without insulting them at the same time. _

_Are you feeling sorry for Snape?_ Now the voice sounded like Ron's.

_Not at all. Just shut up. _

Harry climbed the stairs to the boy's dormitory, avoiding Ron and Hermione waiting for him downstairs, changed into his pyjamas and tried to sleep. He couldn't stop thinking about Snape. He needed him, being the only Death Eater he knew that would agree to take part in a plan to destroy Voldemort.

On the other hand, he just couldn't bring himself to ask the man for help. An hour ago, brewing the Veritas Polyjuice, he had thought that these lessons wouldn't be too bad, considering. If Snape left him alone, he could manage to brew a potion correctly.

Then, he had found out that Snape had been in fact watching him! And that had made him uneasy. So uneasy that he had blew up at the first little taunt. In fact he wasn't even angry at Snape, but at himself for not noticing the man. If he had been a loyal Death Eater… he would have been dead, without noticing.

And all the things he had said to Snape… he knew them to be untrue. He knew that Snape didn't want him dead. He had saved his life countless times. And he believed the man was sorry for ever taunting Sirius about Grimmauld Place.

And the flick in Snape's eyes as he said that! To see the cold, proud man show signs of pain at hearing the accusation had made him uneasy. Guilty. He didn't like the feeling.

He had to get a hold on himself. He had to control what he said to Snape, or this would be another occlumency-like fiasco.

Occlumency! That was it. He just had to learn to occlude his mind, then he would be able to appear as if Snape's cruel words held no impact on him.

And he also needed it to vanquish Voldemort, he realised with a start. If he went as Snape at a Death Eater meeting, and asked Voldemort to drink a potion, The Dark Lord would use Legilimency on him to make sure he hadn't poison it. He wouldn't just drink it trustfully!

Great. So now, instead of just having to learn how to brew two difficult potions, how to apparate and also how to make a spell work, an ancient spell which hadn't been used in centuries and that he had no way of knowing if it worked before Voldie tried to leave his muggle body, all of this alone and without Dumbledore noticing, he also had to learn how to occlude his mind, something he hadn't managed when he had a teacher!

_With luck, _he thought half-asleep, _Voldy will be gracious enough to have a heart-attack tonight… _


	7. diplomacy

**Disclaimer:** Everything you recognise is J.K.Rowling's property. This story is a response to the Severitus Challenge.

**Chapter seven: Diplomacy **

Occlumency was rather like Yoga, if he were to believe the only book he found about it in the library that wasn't in the Restricted Section. Aunt Petunia had been part of a Yoga group some years ago and he had seen her practice. She just sat in lotus position on a carpet, hand on knees, sometimes with a relaxing music… she always seemed much calmer after that.

Well, Harry decided it couldn't hurt to try. So there he sat, on a Saturday morning, in an old classroom of the third floor, alone. It really wasn't difficult to be alone these days. Ron and Hermione were hanging more and more closer, even if they didn't seem to realise it, and Harry was often awkward besides them. So he just left them, most of the time. Anyway, he had things to do.

Learning occlumency. Well, with all that in his mind, he wasn't going to achieve it. It was useless. Each time he closed his eyes, too many thoughts occupied his mind and he couldn't concentrate. He just couldn't think of nothing…

But he had to. Breathe. Slowly. In, and out. In, out. In, out…

He realised it was easier when he didn't close his eyes, so that he could see the floor or the bare wall. He just had to proceed by stages. First, he would try to concentrate on one thing only, and then he could try to think of nothing.

One thing then. The floor. The image of the floor occupying all his mind. The stones, their coldness under his hands, their irregular form… he concentrated only on the floor. When he felt relaxed enough, he closed his eyes. He didn't need them open anymore. The sight was a distraction. He closed them, and immediately the other senses compensated.

The faint odour of rain, the wind's whirling, the contact of his legs upon the floor… he gradually became more aware of that. He concentrated in it. Funny how many things you discovered once you paid more attention to them. The wind, for example. When you listened, really listened to it, it seemed like a voice, telling him many things about his environment.

If he concentrated, he could perceived where it came from, where it went to. He could almost _see_ it in his mind, picture it like a shadow whirling besides the castle's towers.

It seemed so alive. Moving, crying, screaming… Just like the turmoil Harry was in, after Sirius's death. And suddenly, Harry knew what to do to empty his mind. To let go of emotions. He imagined them, one by one, leaving his body to become part of the wind.

All he felt after losing Sirius. The guilt. The pain. The overwhelming despair. He let go, imagined it leaving his body, his mind, to escape from the open window, where it would continue to scream and cry and hurt but without affecting him.

Over and over, he let his emotions go, from the confusion and anger with Snape's behaviour, to the hurt he felt when his friends preferred to hang out without him…

And finally he was free. Peaceful. Not exactly with an empty mind, either. He wasn't thinking about nothing at all, as Snape had said. He just felt like nothing mattered anymore.

Why being angry with Snape? The only thing it would bring was more detentions and deducing points of Gryffindor.

Why mourning over Sirius? It wouldn't bring him back.

Why being hurt by his friends behaviour? He ought to be happy for them.

Why worrying about Malfoy's true allegiances? He would know soon enough. He just had to be careful around him since then.

Why worrying about his plan? It would work or it wouldn't, but no amount of stress would help.

"Hey Potter, what are you doing?"

All at once, Malfoy's voice broke his concentration and he opened his eyes. The Slytherin boy was carelessly leaning on the wall in front of him.

Malfoy couldn't learn about his occlumencie. What if he told Voldemort? He didn't even know how to do it yet, not without several hours of trance!

"Nothing, just a little relaxation. It's a common muggle practice, you know. Yoga, it's called."

"Really. Are you gonna sit there all day long or do you plan to go eating at some point? It's almost too late for lunch in the Great Hall, you know."

"Already? I didn't notice it was so late… why aren't you there, then?"

"Well, I saw you weren't there so I thought, you know, that you and I could just ask for something in the kitchens and eat outside…"

"Huh. I'd love to go in a _picnic_ with you, but it's raining, or didn't you notice?"

"My, my, you really were concentrating on that Yoga business, weren't you? It was raining earlier but the wind chased all the clouds and now it's all sunny! Perfect weather to go outside for a picnic. So, are you coming or not?"

"Sure. I needed a break anyway."

An house-elf named Tibby gave them enough food to last three days, and they ate near the Quidditch pitch.

"So, why were you all alone in there? Wesley and the Mud- _Granger_ don't like Yoda?"

"It's _Yoga _and they had better things to do, like spending countless hours not kissing and not hugging and pretending they're happy with being just friends."

"That bad huh?

"Yeah. I can't stand to be around them, these days."

"I never did…"

"You used not to stand me either, not so long ago."

"I still don't."

"Really. That explains why you suddenly wish to have a _picnic _with me, then."

"What, you don't invite people you can't stand to eat with you?"

"Not unless I plan to poison the food, no."

"Like I would cook. The elves did. I couldn't have poisoned it."

"Which is why I agreed to come."

"You don't trust me not to poison you? I'm hurt, Potter."

"I don't trust Slytherins."

"Slytherin doesn't mean evil, you know."

"No, but it does mean cunning and plots inside plots, doesn't it? As long as I don't know which side you're on, I won't fully trust you."

"Fair enough. But why did you come, if you don't trust me? Why did you hide me on the train, and why do you still agree to talk to me?"

"If you really are trying to distance yourself from the Death Eaters, it would be stupid to throw you back to the lions, wouldn't it? I'd like to give you a fair chance."

"A fair chance for what? Prove I'm a good guy? Sorry to hurt your little Gryffindor heart, Potter, but I'm not."

"Sure. You're as evil as they come."

"Yeah. I am. I'm just not the Lord's slave, is all."

"Then why the hell are you hanging out with me? What are you trying to do?"

"Oh, surely you can guess. Come on, three shots. If you don't find out, you'll have to do my DADA homework for next week."

"Fine. But if I do find out, you're gonna do my Potions homework for Monday."

"You still didn't do it? Okay, fine, whatever. Come on, guess! Or try, anyway…"

"Hum. You're _so_ afraid of your Slytherin fellows you think you can use all the help you can get?"

"Yeah, there's that. But come on, you can do better than that…"

"You're secretly in love with me and you paid these guys to make me think you were in trouble so that I would pity you enough to see you in a new light and suddenly realise that…"

"OK STOP this nonsense already, please."

"Fine. Your loss."

"You still have one guess."

"Hum. Well, I hate to state the obvious but maybe you're just trying to get my trust so that you could throw a knife on my back or something. I'm thinking maybe you're more likely to throw a Portkey into my hands but hey, who knows these days?"

"Potter, The Dark Lord wants my head as a Christmas present. I'm hardly looking for ways to please him."

"You could be looking for _my _head to offer him as a "return-in-his-good-graces" present."

"D'you really think that? 'Coz if you do, I really don't know what I'm doing HERE!"

"Wait! I never said I believed it. I just don't know! What do you expect me to do? Trust you because you behaved for the last week, after everything you did the last five years?"

"Well, why not? You're a bloody Gryffindor, that's part of your job. Kind heart, forgiveness, stupidity, credulity…"

"Yeah? And you're a BLOODY Slytherin, aren't you? Never doing anything without planning the ten moves coming next, without lots and lots of shadowed reasons… how can I trust you, Draco? Tell me how."

"Then don't. I certainly won't kneel before you to make you trust me. Now leave me alone. _Your _loss."

_What the Hell was that about?_ Harry wondered while Draco headed back to the castle. So, he had questioned Draco's loyalties. Well, he wasn't fool enough to just trust him out of the goodness of his heart. He needed proof. The Slytherin boy just had to accept that.

Maybe he would talk to Snape about Draco. Yeah, it took a Slytherin to understand a Slytherin.

As if he ever planned to talk to Snape willingly. He snorted at the thought. The man resented him for _living_, there was no way they could ever have a civilised conversation.

The next Thursday at nearly eight o'clock found Harry making his way to Snape's office, as usual. He was a little anxious. Now was the final test. If he could manage to ignore Snape's taunts, it would mean he had made progress. He had practiced occlumency as much as he could this week, neglecting all his assignments except Potions in order to do so. He found it incredibly time-consuming, but he thought it was getting better with each try. It also helped him sleep, and improved his mood greatly.

He also had time because he didn't have anyone to hang out with, he thought bitterly. Malfoy ignored him royally, Ron and Hermione were still much too preoccupied with each other, and Ginny was studying hard for her OWLs… And with MacGonagall missing, apparently taking care of her granddaughter, there were a lot of holes in his timework.

He didn't have time to pursue this thought as he was grabbed from behind, shut forcibly into a wall and deprived of his wand. He tried to fight the tight grip they hold him in but couldn't. He realised he was held by Crabbe and Goyle, and saw Pansy Parkinson just in front of him, holding his wand, and a little ball.

"Potty, Potty. Don't take it too personally, but our Master is really getting anxious to get you. He gets tired of your bad habit to escape his grip and wishes us to bring you to him. You see, this little ball is a Portkey, and it will lead you directly where he resides…"

"Stupefy!" "Stupefy!" "Stupefy!" Harry heard, and suddenly he was free. Taking his wand back (with care to avoid touching the Portkey), he walked towards his rescuer and raised an eyebrow when he finally saw who it was. But before he could say anything to Malfoy, he was gone.

Sighting, Harry just went to Snape's office as he originally intended to. As he stepped in, he thought oddly that Snape looked relieved to see him, but dismissed the thought immediately as stupid.

"You're late" Snape said, stating the obvious. It was ten past eight.

"Sorry sir. I just met an unwelcoming committee in my way here." He tried to sound casual, when he was in fact terrified. If it wasn't for Malfoy, he would be at Voldemort's feet right about now.

"What happened?" asked Snape, more concerned than he wished to admit.

"Crabbe, Goyle and Parkinson seemed very intend to make me touch a little red ball. Turns out it was a Portkey. It seems that Uncle Voldie wishes to see me…" he abruptly stopped, seeing how pale Snape had become. "Are you alright sir? Sir?"

"What? Yes, of course. Just glad you're not harmed, is all. How did you escape, then?"

"I had… help."

"From whom? Were your friends following you?"

"Kinda. I don't really know." Could he consider Malfoy a friend? The boy had obviously been following him. No way he was there by mere chance.

"What do you mean, you don't know? Explain!"

Well, he had been meaning to talk to Snape about Malfoy, hadn't he? A Slytherin to understand a Slytherin… here was the chance.

"What do you think about Draco Malfoy, sir?"

"You can't possibly be implying that _he _saved you from that Portkey, can you?"

"Well, in fact he did."

He took the raised eyebrow as an invitation to go on.

"I've been meaning to talk to you about it. I thought maybe you could help me understand him better, with you two being Slytherins and all…

"You see, it all began in the Hogwards Express. I was sitting in a compartment alone and Malfoy just stormed into it, looking rather scared, to hide from his classmates. I chased them off, then got to hear the entire story. From what he said, Voldemort wants to offer his head to his father, because he is unsatisfied with how Lucius handled a mission he gave him. "

He didn't feel like to mention that the mission was the fiasco that cost him his godfather. Snape gave him a deep look but said nothing.

"Since then, Malfoy has been popping around when I least expect him to. His latest idea was to take me out for picnic, but we had a fight and didn't talk since. Then, he just saved my skin and left without waiting for a thanks."

"Interesting. It would seem that he doesn't wish you to be handed to The Dark Lord. Maybe he doesn't want to follow in his father's steps anymore. However I must warn you to be extra cautious with him at all times. We do not know for sure that he doesn't mean you harm."

"Yes sir."

"Well, then, I've got exam papers to grade, so I'll leave you to your potion making. The instructions are on the table."

Snape left, and Harry began to make the potion he was to this week. Halfway through, it occurred to him that Snape and him just had their first entirely civilised conversation. Perhaps all hope wasn't lost, after all…

After class the next day, Harry was fed up with Malfoy, who was still avoiding him like the plague, and decided to follow the blond when he saw he wasn't headed to Slytherins' quarters.

In fact, he was headed towards the seventh floor. There, hidden behind a tapestry, Harry saw Draco pacing in front of a bare wall three times. A door appeared and the blond entered in the Room of Requirements.

Harry hesitated a little, but entered anyway. The room was bare, except for a fireplace and two seats. As soon as he was inside, Draco's voice, coming from the one of the seats, said:

"You took your time!"

"You knew I was following you?" asked Harry.

"Why else would I come in here? And you weren't exactly sneaky. Wrong house, I'm afraid."

"Yeah, well we can't all be perfect Slytherins, can we?"

"What did you want, Potter?"

"To thank you, for the other day, I guess."

"That's all? Well, it's done. Now you can get out."

"I also want you to stop avoiding me."

"If I was avoiding you, I wouldn't let you follow me in here. What do you want, Potter?"

Unexpectedly fed up with the way Draco kept calling him Potter, Harry walked to the fireplace and sat on the other seat, in front of the Slytherin.

"I'm not sure."

"Well, keep me apprised."

Draco stood up and turned around as if to leave, but Harry held his wrist.

"I may not know what I want, but I do know that I don't want you to leave."

"Fine, Lord Potter." He sat again. "Is there any other thing I can do to please my Lord?"

"Stop calling me that!"

"What, my Lord?"

"No, Potter."

"Well, that's your name."

"Yeah, but my friends call me Harry."

Draco glanced up in Harry's eyes, his own insecure and suspicious at the same time, searching for some kind of treachery. They found none.


	8. Final stage

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter belongs to J.K.Rowling. This is a response to the Severitus challenge. Everything you don't recognise from either of these sources is mine.

**Chapter eight: Final stage**

Time passed, as it always does. Hours became days, days became weeks. Harry passed every free period he had on the library, to search more information about occlumency, apparition, the Laniglia spell, and the Ysalar Draught. He also spent as much time as possible practicing occlumency, and used each time with Snape to do real practice.

He felt it was taking too long. Each time the Daily Prophet announced another death caused by Voldemort, another tortured family… He just wanted it to be over. But rushing things would do no good, he knew. He would only have one chance. If his occlumency wasn't perfect when he finally decided to act, Voldemort wouldn't drink the potion, and would kill him. Everything would then be lost.

So he practiced, again and again. He occluded while flying, eating, showering. He had to be able to do it in a heart's beat.

Every Thursday, he went at Snape's office at 8 o'clock to learn more about potion brewing. Often they didn't talk much. Snape assigned him a potion to brew, and Harry did while Snape marked essays or brew a potion just next to him. This was when his occlumency training came into action. Generally he managed to avoid saying anything offending, and even engaged in small talk when Snape was in the mood. When he was trying to brew a particularly difficult potion, Snape often offered quiet advices, and even caught himself saying 'Well done' after Harry had managed Veritaserum quite satisfyingly on the first attempt.

Snape found himself happier than he had been in years (although he hid it well). He was getting to know his son, and enjoyed every minute of it. Harry was still uncomfortable in his presence, but it was slowly changing. The only reason he was still precautious around Snape was that he totally ignored what had occurred to change their relationship that drastically.

Severus was dying to tell him. Each time he saw Lily's eyes in the boy's face, Potter's face, he was dying to tell him that he, Severus Snape, was his father. He desperately wanted to know what the boy really looked like.

He was getting frustrated. Here was his son, and he couldn't even tell him the truth because a megalomadman wanted to rule the world. He hated Voldemort even more than before.

Harry found himself liking more and more the time he spend with the older man, and was beginning to trust him more than Dumbledore. After all, Snape had never done anything to gain his mistrust. True, he had taunted Sirius, but as much as Harry had loved his godfather, he knew he somehow earned it. Each time he thought about the incident he had seen in the pensieve… and Sirius' answer when he confronted him was hardly satisfying ("he was fifteen and an idiot").

If Dudley was suddenly locked up in a house he hated (without television or video games for example), Harry probably wouldn't restrain himself either to make some remarks.

His hatred for Snape was entirely gone, now. He was instead building a mixed feeling of respect and trust. And in the early December, he had an opportunity to test this trust.

It was Thursday night. As usual, he entered the little lab, expecting to see new instructions on his table besides the cauldron he always used. Instead, he found Snape sitting in a chair in front of the door, and sat where his professor mentioned he had to.

"I admit you progressed further than I thought you would in such a short amount of time. You've grasped the basics, and now you're ahead of the majority of your class. So, instead of doing as usual the next potion the class will have to brew, we'll now see some potions that we won't see in class. Do you have any suggestion?"

That was it. The perfect opportunity. He just had to ask…

"Well? No idea? Fine, we'll…"

"No, I've got one actually."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Huh. Have you heard of… the Ysalar Potion?"

"So, miss Granger told you about her thoughtless idea, didn't she? As I'm sure you well know, it's classed as Dark Arts. I can't teach you that."

"With all due respect sir, it never stopped you before. I did a little research. Occlumency isn't very light either."

"A "little research", you say? So that's why you're so much calmer and collected now, isn't it? You learned it all alone."

"Yes. I had to."

"I understand. But I thought we had put our differences aside… you could have come to me with this, you realise?"

Harry paused to think. Yes, indeed, they did have put their differences aside. He had known it for a while, but hearing Snape voicing it made it real, somehow. Suddenly, every doubts he still had about telling Snape his idea vanished. Snape would help him. He always had, even back when they still hated each other.

"I come to you with _that, _now Will you help me?" he finally asked.

"To brew an Ysalar Draught? Not without knowing what you wish to do with it. And don't you tell me you're just curious about it. I know you. You never do things without a reason."

"I didn't intend to lie."

"If you say so. So, what did you want it for?"

"Vanquish Voldemort, of course."

"I thought Dumbledore explained. This potion only works on a body. All Voldemort would have to do…

"…would be to change body again, I know that. But not if I cast Leniglia on him before he drinks it."

"Leniglia? What the hell is that?"

"You've never heard of it?"

"Not that I remember. Should I have?"

"It's a spell created to link a soul and a body. The link is unalterable, and unbreakable."

"So, your plan is to go see Voldemort, cast a spell on him and offer him a potion? Do you really expect it to work?"

"Put like that… No. Which is why I need your help. I need to go as you. You're a Death Eater no offence so he'll let me get near him if I look like you, and with my wand! Then I'll just have to tell him it's a potion that rends him immortal or something like that, and he'll drink it!"

"…"

"Sir?"

"ARE YOU MAD? OR JUST SUICIDAL? I'm NOT letting you go there with that STUPID plan in mind!

" But perhaps that plan is worth something… why would you go as me, when I could just go as myself? Yes. I'll have to imply some weeks early that I'm working on a new potion, capable to link the subject to his life or something and prevent death… he would drink it if I let him use legilimens on me… I may have to alter my memories so that he really will see what he intends to…"

"I'm NOT letting you do that. What if it works? The Death Eaters will understand it was your potion that made their master more an incapable that he already is, and what would they do to you then? It's too dangerous."

"I'll have a Portkey prepared. Did you not think of it?"

"Of course I did, answered Harry, even if it wasn't true. But, sir, what makes you think you will have time to activate it? You won't be able to if you're under a body bind, or Stupefy…" or _worse. The killing curse. _He didn't say the words, but they kind of floated in the air between the two men.

"Potter, we could end all this once and for all and you want me to abandon this fabulous plan for concerns about my safety?"

"I thought it was a STUPID plan?"

"It was, when _you _intended to do it."

"I still intend to do it. It's not your business. Voldemort is mine. The prophecy says so. He'll just kill you. I have a chance."

"I never believed in these things. And when you think about who made the stupid thing… Trelawney is a lousy bitch, nothing more. And I'm NOT letting you go there. Think, Potter. I'm a trained Death Eater. Do you really think you're more up to the task than I am, being a sixth-year student? You'll get yourself killed!"

"As if you cared. Once Voldemort is gone, even Dumbledore won't care what happens to me. Why would you? I'm just a weapon. A stupid marionette who has to do its job."

"You really think that, don't you? I admit it would probably be Dumbledore's line of thoughts. He thinks like a chess master, you see. To sacrifice one piece to win the game… It doesn't mean he doesn't care about you. The thing is, he cares about all the wizarding world. He has to make choices. But think about your friends. All the Weasleys. Lupin. MacGonagall."

"Yeah, and letting uncle Voldy rule the world is for their best I suppose? It's for them I have to do this."

"If I go they won't be forced to suffer the Dark Lord's reign anymore and they won't lose you either."

"Yeah, everyone will lose _you _instead. If you think I shouldn't take the risk then I don't see why _you _should."

"I'm serious, Potter. You're not going there and it's final. And who knows about prophecies? This one could just mean you had to find the way to end Voldemort, not actually doing it. Now you have. I'll go."

"…"

"Potter?"

"Fine. Do it. Get yourself killed in the process. I don't care! Just promise me two things…"

"What?"

"I want you to promise that you'll call me before you go. BEFORE you leave. When you'll feel the mark. I want you to call me. I want to be there. Please."

"Why?"

"Please!"

"Fine. I'll call you. Happy? Now, I'll even let you brew the potion. I really don't believe in prophecies, but I think it wouldn't hurt to satisfy this one as much as we can, would it? I believe I have it in one of my books… stay here."

"Wait! I want another promise."

"What now?"

"Dumbledore mustn't know."

"No? Fine. You're right, he would try to dissuade me and he can be quite persuasive when he wants to."

He left and Harry sighed, relieved.

Snape was fuming. Stupid Gryffindor! So _that _was why Harry didn't blow up at any insult anymore. He had been studying occlumencie all on his own! And for what?

Because he had this stupid plan in mind all this time! All the research it must have cost, to learn about these potions, and the spell, which Severus himself had never heard of! He must have been planning that for weeks! Perhaps even months!

And why? Because Dumbledore, the interfering old fool, had put in his young head that he was the one who had to end the madman! That he was the one who could stop the murders, the tortures…

And now… now he would have to die. Of course. He was the only one Harry had told of his plan, and he had even promised not to involve Dumbledore.

And he couldn't just ignore the plan, because it could work. It would work. It had to work.

It was a beautiful plan and it was realisable. And furthermore, which forced Snape's admiration, it didn't involve killing. Snape hated to kill. He had to, of course, way too often, to keep his position as a spy. The killing and torturing was the main reason why he had left Voldemort's service. He had realised it didn't procure him a feeling of extreme power, just sickness.

But for this plan to work, one of them (and Snape absolutely refused to let Harry do it) had to go to a Death Eaters meeting and cause Voldemort to lose his powers. Which wouldn't go unnoticed. Snape held no illusions as to what his punishment would be. Torture, followed by slow death.

Which lead to another problem: what was his son thinking? Was he really so naïve he thought the Death Eaters would just pat him in the head, or so foolish he thought he could handle them all? Or worse, was he so desperate he didn't care, as long as he did what he thought was his "duty"?

He was rather afraid it was the last. He sneered. His son really was a typical Gryffindor.

One of them had to do it. If he let Harry do it (which was out of question), he would never see him again. Of that he was sure. The idea was unbearable. Never to see him again, never to talk to him again… And he could never tell him that he was his father.

If he went… it was the same, in a sense. Harry would never know he was his son, and Sev would never see or talk to him again. But he would know Harry would live, and in a world without Voldemort…

And without himself. All alone, once again.

He vaguely wondered just when Harry had taken such an important part in his life. Just a few weeks ago, he wasn't even sure he _wanted _to acknowledge he had a son. Now, he was ready (well, not ready, but prepared anyway) to face death just to spare him… his own flesh and blood. And the worse was that it seemed natural to do so.

He didn't even have to think about it. If he could spare his son, he would. Even if it meant painful death. All prophecies, crazy old men and Harry's gryffindoresk behaviour be damned, his son wouldn't die if he could prevent it.

Holding that thought, he returned to Harry with the book, and they didn't speak about it again that night.

An hour after Harry left, Severus grasped his right arm tightly in pain. His "master" was calling. Time to begin the plan's first phase…

"My Severuss. What news do you bring me? What is Dumbledore planning?"

"My Lord, he asked me to brew a potion."

Technically that wasn't a lie. "He" was referring to Harry, and not to Dumbledore, but Voldemort didn't need to know that. He felt Voldemort's mind exploring his own and focused on the true part, hiding the rest.

"Did he? What potion exactly?"

"I have to work on an improvement of the Ysalar Draught. Apparently, his very old friend Nicholas Flamel left notes about…"

"About what?"

"Immortality, my Lord. Acquired by a modified version of the Ysalar Draught and an obscure spell."

"Dumbledore wishes to become immortal?"

"Perhaps he understands it is his only way to survive your reign, my Lord."

"Very well. You will report me any news about this. Immediately. Is that clear?"

"Yes, my Lord."

"Regain your place."

After that, the meeting was pretty usual.

Harry quickly grabbed his invisibility cloak, which was hidden under his mattress. He had to act quickly, or the Apothecary would be closed. He put it on, and noticed that it barely covered his feet, now. He remembered when Ron and Hermione would fit under it with him without any problem. That seemed to be forever ago. Now Ron, Hermione and him were as good as strangers. They barely saw each other at all, these days. Ron and Hermione were always together, hugging or holding hands, and Harry didn't want to intrude, so he remained away. Most of the time, anyway, he had to practice occlumency, or read about stuff he didn't want them to know about. And when he wasn't, he liked to spend time with Draco, or Ginny and Luna…

Much had changed, this year. He remembered fondly when the Gryffindor Trio would spend the year solving mysteries, righting some wrong… And yet here he was, planning the most daring plan they had ever dreamed of, with almost no chance of getting out of it alive, and he wasn't even telling them. This time, he acted all alone. No more whispered conversations in front of the fireplace about which of their teachers could be the evil one, or how to stop Voldemort from taking over the school or the world…

Perhaps that was just maturity. Handling things on his own, rather than including innocent people who would risk their lives too. The prophecy didn't include anyone else. This was between Voldemort and him. His destiny, written before he was even born.

Enough with the melodrama, he told himself. The plan had just acquired another difficulty, as if it wasn't hard enough already. All because of Snape! He had thought that if the man agreed to the plan, he wouldn't have to brew any potions at all, and certainly no ingredients to buy. Snape would take care of anything Potion related.

And indeed he had said he would. He had promised to take care of everything except the actual brewing for the Ysalar Draught. But that wasn't the only potion Harry needed.

He still needed Veritas Polyjuice. No way would he allow Snape to go in his place. It was his job.

But Snape refused to understand that. It puzzled Harry. Surely Snape would rather see him die than take the risk himself? Maybe he just didn't trust him to do the job. Maybe he thought he was incapable of occluding, or was it the Laniglia spell he didn't trust him to do? Anyway, he was wrong. Harry was ready. As ready as anyone could ever be to attempt something like that, anyway. He had read every last thing he could find on the spell on the library, restricted section included, and even if he had never cast it, he felt ready to try.

While reading about the Veritas Polyjuice, he had also learned something that made his job easier. While impersonating someone else, he would temporary have the same magical abilities the person had. So he didn't need to learn how to apparate. Snape already knew.

He quietly walked through the silent corridors of the castle, the Marauder's Map in hand, heading towards the secret passage.

When he came back, ingredients carefully hidden inside the Room of Requirements, which had for the occasion taken the form of a potions lab, the dormitory was dark. Ron's bed was empty, as it was more often than not these days, and Neville was snoring. Dean and Seamus seemed to be asleep too, and Harry quietly changed into his pyjamas before entering his bed. Drawing the curtains, he hold a cry of surprise. There, waiting patiently for him to come, ruffling his feathers, was Fawkes. When he saw Harry he gave him a piece of parchment, then disappeared with a pop. Harry sat, bemused, the paper in hand, and cast lumos with a whisper to see what it was.

It was a convocation from Dumbledore, for the next day at noon. Harry panicked. Did the Headmaster knew what he intended to do? Did he want to stop him, or to help?

Harry silently vowed not to tell him anything. If he did, then the Headmaster would surely insist he let Snape do it in his place, or at least that he didn't go alone. Order members could follow him, using tracking spells, if he was willing. Well, he wasn't. He wouldn't let anyone else take any risks. It was already enough that Snape knew the plan. That was a big risk. Not because he didn't trust that Snape was on his side. He had absolutely no doubt about that. But Snape could tell someone else, or resist when Harry would want to take his place…

Once again, Harry wondered why Snape would want to go instead of him. The more he thought about it, the more that puzzled him. He fell asleep still trying to decipher this enigma.

The following day, he told Draco not to wait for him after class and headed towards the Headmaster's office. Not really in the mood to guess the password, he just stood in front of the gargoyle, and, strangely enough, it moved on its own almost immediately. He knocked on Dumbledore's office, and entered when the old man told him to.

"Harry! How are you my boy?"

"I'm fine, thank you Headmaster."

"Lemon drop?"

"Sure." Harry figured having something on his mouth would give him an excuse to avoid answering immediately if he had to think about what he wanted to say.

"I wanted to talk to you about the approaching holidays."

"What about it, sir?" Harry answered after chewing. He forcefully occluded. Did Dumbledore knew what he had planned to do over the holidays?

"Harry, I wish to know what you want to do during Christmas break."

Harry took another bite of lemon drop. It was all he could do to avoid babbling. Thankfully, the Headmaster wasn't finished.

"You see, I know you always spends Christmas at Hogwarts, but this year I'm afraid it won't be possible. We have gathered evidence that Voldemort plans to attack the school on Christmas Day, and we intend to set him into a trap. Of course, in order to do that, the school must be completely empty."

Oh Merlin, no! If he was outside the school when Snape received the call, he wouldn't be able to take his place! Occlude. Calm down. Dumbledore mustn't know. You'll think about it later. He forced himself back into the conversation.

"But, sir, won't he know it if we empty the school?"

He was evidently thinking about the new DADA teacher, who was a known Death Eater. Well, known to anyone who cared to look, anyway. Not to the Ministry, obviously.

"If you're thinking about the _spy_ among our ranks, it is in fact thanks to him that this plan is possible at all. The poor professor is quite sure I trust him, so if I tell him you're staying at school for the holidays, he'll without doubt return this information to his master."

"So you're thinking that Voldemort wants to attack this place just because I'm in it?"

"That's certainly part of it."

"Where will I go?" he asked suddenly. Not because he cared, though. By then, he had figured his plan would have to take place before the holidays to have a chance to work. After, Dumbledore and the Order would have risked their lives for nothing, 'coz their plan would never work. His could. Plus, after being set into a trap, Voldemort would become more paranoid than ever. So, by the time Dumbledore wanted to sent him anywhere, either he wouldn't be there anymore (dead or in captivity) or there wouldn't be any need to leave the school. Still, Dumbledore might get suspicious if he didn't ask.

"Well, I thought you should consider going back to the Dursleys. It really is the best place for you. Plus, the protection your mother left you would be stronger if you went there more often."

"With respect sir, going back there once a year is enough. Couldn't I stay in Headquarters instead?" he plaid. Really, he didn't care, since he wouldn't go anywhere, but he thought he ought to act as if he cared what Dumbledore said.

"Harry, nobody will be at Headquarters over the holidays. We'll need everyone in order for the trap to have a chance to work. We can't spare anybody to look after you."

"I'm not a little boy! I don't need anyone to look after me."

"Still, I can't let you alone in that time. You might take it upon you to come here and rescue us. I know you Harry. You'll go to the Dursleys. It is safer. And after all, Christmas is a family thing. You should be with your family."

Harry fought to keep his calm. Family? He wanted to scream. The Dursleys had never been his family.

"Yes sir." He answered between his teeth. "Was there anything else?"

"No, Harry. You can go to the Great Hall now if you wish. Please feel free to come and see me if you need anything."

Harry didn't even bother to answer and left quickly. The gall of that man was incredible! He didn't go to the Great Hall. He wasn't really hungry, and besides, he needed fresh air, and to be left alone.

He needed to occlude, he realised. It always helped him. Sitting under the tree closer to the lake, he fought his anger. Hearing the waves of the lake helped. He could let go of his anger and let it melt into the water, push it by waves. He pushed, and piece by piece, he managed to return the waves as they came to his feet. He didn't notice it, thought. His eyes were closed. But soon he was able to feel peace again.

That peace helped him focus on what was important. It didn't matter if the Headmaster wanted to trick him into returning at the Dursleys. Yes, trick him, he recognised it now. That backhanded comment, "_you might want to rescue us"_ was really a low blow, destined to remind him of his failure with Sirius, and thus to make him agree to whatever was asked to avoid another situation like that.

But it didn't matter at all, because he wouldn't go. He would never, ever have to go back to the Dursleys. If he managed to end the menace Voldemort, he would surely die. And even if he didn't, there was no way in hell he was going to put up with this crap anymore. No. If he was old enough to vanquish a Dark Lord, then he was surely old enough to live on his own.

What mattered right now was the plan. The plan had changed, and he needed to inform his partner in crime. Namely, Snape. Sighing, he headed back to the castle…


	9. Deception

**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter's universe belongs to JK Rowling. This story is a response to the Severitus' challenge. The rest is mine.

Author note: Thanks for all the reviews!

**Chapter nine: deception**

A week later, Snape asked him to come in his office immediately after dinner. Draco insisted on going with him, and only left with reluctance once Snape told him to. Since the beginning of the school year, Snape hadn't been treating him as well as before. In fact, and all the more since he paired up with Harry, the professor treated him even worse than the gryffindors. Even if he didn't show it, Harry knew it deeply hurt Draco, since Snape was his godfather and he felt betrayed that he would choose the Dark Lord over his own godson.

Harry knew that Snape didn't have a choice. More than ever he had to act as a loyal Death Eater, and that included despising all Malfoys. He just wished he could trust Draco enough to tell him about Snape's true allegiances.

Draco always appeared worried whenever Harry had to go to one of his private potions lessons, and had even tried to make Harry quit them, arguing that he wasn't _that_ bad at potions anyway, and that if he really needed a private potions professor he could always ask him, since he was the best potion student of their year. Harry had argued back, saying that Snape only agreed to take him into his newt level as long as he would take remedial sessions, and since he wanted to get into the Auror program, he had to. Draco said that with his Gryffindor's recklessness there was little chance he would stay alive this long. Harry laughed, but privately he agreed. That was the end of the matter.

Still, he was willing to bet that the Slytherin boy was going to try to eavesdrop on the conversation, so he was glad when Snape cast a silencing charm before saying anything. Then, he opened a cupboard at the far end of the room, took out a dark bottle of something, and poured himself a glass full of a liquid that smelled strongly like alcohol even from where Harry stood. He gulped it in a swallow, then spoke in a hollow voice.

"I went to a meeting last night. The Dark Lord is growing impatient with the potion I promised to brew for him. I am to bring it to him as soon as it is finished, without waiting for a summon."

He pulled himself another drink, and then another. Harry spoke the first thing in his mind, to fill the disturbing silence.

"How will you know where to go, if he doesn't summon you?"

"What do you mean?" asked Snape, drinking yet another glass.

"Isn't the summon the way you track the location where Voldemort is?"

"Not really. The mark does that on its own. It makes us attracted by the Dark Lord's location, like a muggle magnet, and so it's easier at any time to apparate near Him than to anywhere else. That's why most of the Death Eaters avoid apparition to other locations as much as possible. Fighting the link while appariting can be quite draining."

Harry was beginning to worry. If Snape was making comparisons between the Dark Mark and Muggle technology, he was indeed quite drunk. On the other way, maybe it wasn't such a bad thing. A babbling Snape could be useful. He watched with mixed feelings as Snape poured himself another drink.

"So basically you can find him whenever you want. Why did you never use that to set him into a trap?"

"Well, firstly Dumbledore firmly believes that you're the only one who can vanquish him, and even he admits you're way too young for such a task. Plus, the mark doesn't actually gives me his location. It just attracts me there. But I've no way of knowing where _there_ is. Apparition isn't like following a map. There is no notion of distance, as long as you are linked to the location you search, either by the Dark Mark or by knowing already where it is."

"Oh. So, when is Voldemort expecting the potion?"

"Tonight. Tomorrow, at the very least. We'll have to brew it now. I have prepared the ingredients. Come."

Harry gulped. This was his chance. Snape was drunk, and he would be much more easier to knock out than usual. There was only the matter of the potion still to brew, but Harry knew it almost by heart now, he had studied so hard. He was sure he would be able to make it… And the Polyjuice was ready and awaiting in the Room of Requirements.

Snape opened the door to his private lab, the bottle in his other hand, then entered it with uneasy steps. Apparently, whatever alcohol he had been drinking was already taking its effects.

Harry followed him inside, and as Snape was slowly turning around, he got his wand out to stun him. Before he knew it though, the wand was snapped out of his hand and Snape was pointing it at him, quickly muttering '_Petrificus Totalis_'. He fell to the floor, unable to move, eyes open, and when Snape came into his vision he realized the man didn't appear drunk at all anymore.

"Surprise." He hissed at Harry while picking him up and carrying him to the couch, with such precise movements that Harry's last doubts vanished. The man was sober, and had been all along. Whatever he had been drinking hadn't been alcohol at all, but something smelling like it to make him think it was. It was all a trap. Snape had obviously known he would try to go in his place all along. He had been stupid enough to fall for it, and now he was body-bound! Snape was going to brew the potion, and go to Voldemort himself!

He couldn't let him do that! Despair filled him, his overwhelming desire to prevent Snape from risking his life burning inside of him. He felt like he was going to explode. He couldn't even clinch his fists in rage, his anger building without any way to release it physically. Anger directed not at Snape, but at himself, for being stupid enough to fall right into the professor's trap.

He had to free himself! He could do it. Wandless magic. He had done it numerous times, when he was feeling angry, or threatened, and now he was surely frustrated enough to call forth his magical abilities! It was now or never.

But he just couldn't. In the meantime, Snape had left the chamber, and Harry could hear him opening bottles, probably making the potion. He forced himself to calm down. Some of the ingredients necessary to brew the potion were very rare, and he doubted Snape had bought more than the minimal amount. If he somehow managed to use his wandless magic now, it would risk damaging the potion or the ingredients, which would be even worse than letting Snape do the job. Wandless magic was incontrollable, and he couldn't afford to loose the potion.

How could he calm down now, though? What he had been planning for months had failed miserably, and now another one of the few adults he looked up to was going to have to risk his life! The answer was simple, though. He just had to occlude, as he had done on many occasions.

This time it was more difficult than usual. He had to fight against his intense feelings, and the urgency he felt didn't help to detach himself from his worries either. Eventually, after what seemed like hours but was probably only a few minutes, he managed to force all his negative feelings out. They left him all at once, and there was a loud noise as everything around him went flying away, as if taken by a whirl of wind. He heard Snape swear under his breath, coming out the door of the lab, and then he could see him standing right in front of him, his wand pointed at his face.

"I can see it was a mistake keeping you conscious. Sleep well, Potter. _Somu-"_

_"STUPEFY!" _said Draco's voice coming from the doorway. And then, pointing his wand at Harry, he said two really welcome words: "_Finite Incantatem!"_.

Harry was free, and he quickly got up. Snape was lying on the floor a few feet away, Harry's wand in his pocket and his own in his right hand. Harry took them both, while Draco claimed:

"I told you he was a Death Eater, didn't I? But NO, you still had to come in here alone, you stupid Gryffindor! He was probably going to turn you over to the Dark Lord!"

"Voldemort", Harry corrected automatically, though his mind wasn't on it. He felt drained, as if he hadn't slept for a few days. If he had been more aware, he would probably have realised the irony of the situation. Draco assumed that Snape wanted to bring him to Voldemort, while he had in fact been trying to avoid it.

"Yeah, whatever. Anyway, what just happened? I tried to open the door as soon as I realised you had been there far too long, and it was spelled close. How did you manage to lift the spell while being under a body-bind? Or did Snape lift it? I can't see why he would have, though."

"I couldn't do a thing, so he must have opened it. Or you finally managed to overcome his spell. I'm not sure…" Harry answered in a dreamy voice. How _had _he opened the door? It must have been his occlumency, but he had never heard of a similar occurrence, and he had read a _whole lot_ of books on the subject. Occlumency wasn't supposed to do that. But somehow, his did. He couldn't let Draco know, of course. Damn mistrust. He would really have liked to talk to a friend about it, and with Ron and Hermione unavailable…

He could have used some help, considering the situation. Draco could set up an alibi for his disappearance, and Snape's as well, which would buy him time to go to the Room of Requirements, add Snape's hair, and then drink it and go.

"Harry, are you ok?"

"Sure."

He could trust Draco, couldn't he? The blond had just proven his loyalty, by rescuing him from what he thought was a Death Eater.

But there was too much at stake to tell someone he wasn't really sure of. So, taking Snape's wand (he needed to test if it worked for him, and now was as good a time as any) he quickly stunned the Slytherin, who fell on the floor. He was amazed at how well Snape's wand worked for him. It felt familiar, somehow, although Harry had never used it before.

He didn't have time to ponder why, though. Kneeling beside Snape, he cut a few of his professor's hair, and walked to the fireplace. Before going in, he looked back at the room. Snape must have done a Portkey for himself as he had said he would, but Harry had no way of knowing what it was, or what password activated it… He would have to do without, then. Sighing, he threw a handful of Floo powder, went in and screamed "Hogwarts, seventh floor!".

He knew there was at least one fireplace by floor, and even if he greatly disliked Floo, it was safer than wandering the corridors. He found himself in a little dusty room, and as he left it he realised he was just in front of the tapestry beyond which the door to the Room of Requirements was hidden. Holding the thought of his little private lab in mind, he walked three times in front of it, and the door appeared. He opened it, went in and sighed in relief when he saw the mud-green looking potion awaiting the last ingredient. Each time he left the Room he worried he wasn't gonna find the same one anymore.

He dropped the hair of Snape in it, then sighed in disgust. Drinking it once had been more than enough, and with Crabbe's hair in it no less (or was it Goyle? He couldn't remember). With Snape's greasy hair, it promised to be even worse. Grimacing, he brought it to his lips, then brought it down immediately. The smell was horrible! He couldn't drink that!

He smirked at the irony. He didn't think twice about taking insane risks to bring Voldemort to his end, but he was having hesitations over a simple bad tasting potion? Shaking his head, he drowned the awful mixture in one gulp. Then he immediately took another potion, to clear his breath of the very recognisable smell of Polyjuice. It had the additional effect of clearing the taste, too, so he was glad he had taken the precaution.

Just as he was about to put down the empty glass, an awful feeling in his stomach made him hold onto it. The glass fell to the floor, but Harry couldn't care less. He felt as thought his insides were torn apart, the pain was excruciating. Harry was beginning to worry. He clearly remembered that this kind of Polyjuice couldn't be taken by someone who wished to harm the owner of the hair, but what if it didn't take in intentions, but facts? After all, Snape hadn't exactly been thinking highly of him when the hair was taken. And it was taken unwillingly…

Then, as suddenly as it had begun, it stopped. Breathing hard, Harry strengthened and noticed absent-mindedly the changes. He was taller, his hair had grown and was greasier, and he felt a dull pain in his forearm. He pulled up his sleeve with his long and white fingers, and discovered the thing he hated more than anything. Unsurprisingly, he could sense that Snape disliked it about as much as he did, perhaps even more.

Quickly, he got rid of his clothes, which were too small for Snape (well, his robes were anyway. Dudley's old clothes weren't too small for anyone except him and his father). He put on the clothes he had brought in about a week ago, knowing that even if the Room of Requirements could provide him with anything, he wouldn't be able to get it out.

Walking not to appear suspicious, though his mind screamed him to run, he quietly got out of the Room, headed towards the stairs. The good thing was that he didn't have to worry about being in trouble for wandering the corridors after curfew. Snape was a professor, and if spotted he would be assumed to make the rounds in order to take points of wandering students.

He was glad Snape was known for his mood swings and that no one would be surprised to see him walk as if he had a meeting with Merlin himself, because he was in no mood to walk as if he had no worries. He was extremely nervous, and at the same time excited. This was it. The plan so far had worked. If he managed to get it done, the wizarding world would be at peace once again, and people all over Europe would be celebrating that very night. Not him, though. He didn't have any way of getting out of Voldemort's hands. He didn't have a Portkey, and from what Snape had told him it was difficult for a Death Eater to apparate anywhere away from his master. Since Harry didn't have any experience at apparating, he would probably split himself…

But that shouldn't be a problem. The moment the Death Eaters realised what was happening, they would set anti-apparition wards to prevent the traitor's escape. Somehow that didn't make Harry feel better.

The way out of the school grounds felt excruciatingly long and much too short all at once.

He really didn't want to die, and that was probably what awaited him if he apparated away to Voldemort now. But he had made his choice. His father and mother had given their lives for him, and he now understood why. He was ready to give his if that's what it took to protect the ones he loved. Besides, death didn't sound like that bad a deal. He would get to be with his parents, and with Sirius…

And at least he wouldn't be there to be worshipped after Voldemort's demise. Really, if he had been famous for defeating Voldemort as a baby, which was in fact mostly his mother's doing, he didn't dare to imagine what people would think this time. He wasn't sure he wanted to be there to see it. Whatever happened tonight, everything would change. If by miracle he managed to get out of there alive, all Hogwarts students (except for Death Eaters children) would behave like Colin Creevey in his presence, and he really wasn't anxious to see that!

Which didn't mean he wanted to die, of course. He was just trying to find excuses, ways to accept his fate.

He finally arrived at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, which he knew from Hermione was the limit range of the anti-apparition wards of Hogwarts. Without thinking twice, he pulled up his sleeve and touched the Dark Mark, closing his eyes. He concentrated on the darkness he felt while touching it, and thought it heard like a low hiss coming from the Dark Mark's snake.

"_Follow me_," it said, but Harry didn't only hear the words, he felt them too. He felt an overwhelming need to follow the snake to wherever it wanted to take him, and he suddenly understood what Snape meant. It seemed impossible to resist the call, much less try to go anywhere else.

He didn't try to resist. He let go, and suddenly found himself in front of Voldemort.

Please REVIEW!


	10. How to get rid of a freak, lesson two

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, JK Rowling does. This is a response to the Severitus Challenge. The plot is mine.

Author Note: Thanks for all the reviews! This chapter shows a darker side of Albus Dumbledore. Not really evil, but not like a grandpa's figure. You're warned! Don't like, don't read.

**Chapter ten: how to get rid of a freak, lesson two **

"Ssseveruss. I trust you bring me what I wisssshed?"

"Indeed, my Lord", said Harry, kneeling.

The Dark Lord smiled. Really smiled, not smirked. His smile was genuine, like that of a child on Christmas day. On his snakelike face, it was even more frightening that an evil one. Whatever made Voldemort happy could sent shivers down Harry's spine. Or Snape's, in that case. He concentrated on clearing his mind, which helped a little with the stress too.

"Take your plasssse in the sssssssircle, Ssssseverusssss. I will call the othersss." Voldemort said, lifting his right arm, which wore the Dark Mark. In Parseltongue, he hissed to it, and seconds later the Death Eaters began to arrive. With each new one, Harry grew more alarmed, though he didn't allow himself to dwell on it, out of fear that Voldemort would start legilimancing him without warning.

After several minutes, the circle was complete. Harry counted thirty-eight, plus Wormtail, Nagini and Voldemort himself.

He finally noticed the big flaw in his plan: even without their leader, the Death Eater would remain a threat! Most of the time Voldemort didn't take part of the raids anyway.

It was too late to worry about it, though. His job was to end Voldemort. The Order could take care of the rest, or so he hoped.

The burn on his arm woke Severus up. Wait, woke up? Wasn't he stunned? He was confused, and the headache didn't help. He wanted answers, so he opened his eyes but immediately had to shut them. The light was way too bright. Everything hurt. He heard Poppy's voice, saying

"He's awake, Albus."

And then he felt the old man's hand in his own, and heard the voice of the man he looked up as a father.

"Are you all right, my boy?" the voice asked, seemingly concerned.

"Would you believe me if I said I was?" he replied, his voice sounding pathetically weak to his own ears.

"Considering you just woke up from a two hours concussion-implied sleep, no. Apparently you hit your head on a desk when you were stunned. What happened, Severus? You and young Mr Malfoy were both found stunned in the potions classroom. Who stunned you?"

"hum, Draco I think… Wait, you said he was stunned too? What about Harry?"

"Harry? What do you mean? He wasn't there."

That helped clearing Severus' mind completely. Harry wasn't there. Draco was stunned. Harry had stunned Draco. Harry had left. Harry would die…

He abruptly got up and the room swung around him as he did so, but he ignored it as well as Albus' concerned calls. He quickly left the room. He needed to find Harry…

Unfortunately, he didn't go far before he was caught by Albus and Poppy and forced to go back in the hospital wing.

"Really Severus, you are being unreasonable, said the Headmaster. You have a concussion, you need to rest."

"Albus, you don't understand! I must go after Harry!"

"He's delirious, Headmaster. It often happens when one get a concussion and isn't rested enough…" Poppy began, but Severus cut in:

"I'm FINE, thank you. Albus, listen to me. Harry and I had a plan, I was supposed to make the Dark Lord drink a potion then put a spell on him and he would have been left without powers in a body he was bound to. But that foolish child took my place! We have to go after him or the Death Eaters will kill him as soon as they realise what is happening! He doesn't have a Portkey! He has no way to get out of there in one piece!"

All at once, the Headmaster's face lightened up, and there was a mad twinkle in his eyes. Severus thought he imagined it, though, as it was quickly replaced by a sad expression.

"I'm sorry Severus, but we can't. If we go now, we could jeopardize the whole mission. We don't know how long it will take to Harry to end it. It could be hours. And by then, your connection through the mark will long be broken and we'll have no way of knowing where he is..."

"But Albus, at least let me go there, I'll apparate near and see where it is while I still have the connection! We can't just let him die!"

"I can't let you do that and you know it. First you're way too weak to apparate right now without risk, and second Voldemort probably has spelled the entire area to warn him of any apparition."

"I'm willing to take the risk, Albus!"

"I'm not. Do you understand what this could mean? The end of Voldemort. Sacrificing Harry is sad, of course, but in every war there are casualties, and there will be far more if we let it continue any longer. You should rest, now."

"How can you say that? I thought you cared about Harry?"

"And I was under the impression you didn't. In fact, apart from your rather surprising new habit to call him by his first name, you've always made it clear you hated him. You have to understand, Severus. I can't risk losing the chance to win the war just to preserve an orphan's life."

"What does the fact that he's an orphan have to do with anything?"

Dumbledore sighed.

"It's sad to say, of course, but no one will miss him. He doesn't have any family that cares about him, nor any friends left. Didn't you notice how he managed to distance himself from his friends this year? Young Mr Weasley and Mrs Granger no longer pay any attention to him, and I dare say they won't be heartbroken if he is to die. The Dursleys never cared about him, and now Sirius is dead too. I was rather afraid he was going to kill himself upon realising he didn't have anyone left, that's part of why I told him the prophecy that night. I knew he wouldn't die like a coward if he was aware of his importance. Now, if you'll excuse me, it's high time I interrogated Mr Malfoy. I'm glad you're feeling well."

Severus was stunned. That wasn't the Albus he knew. Of course, he was aware the Headmaster wasn't perfect, and often considered the great picture rather than the individuals, but still? He knew Harry was potentially suicidal and rather than helping him cope he just told him how to kill himself? Or so it seemed that way to Severus.

_You're wrong, _he wanted to scream to Dumbledore's face, _he does have a family who cares about him. And I won't let him be sacrificed to your cause. _

If only the headache would stop…

Harry had expected to be many things during this mission, but bored wasn't one of them. Voldemort was telling his Death Eaters about how great it was going to be when he truly would become immortal, in great many details. His speech had begun almost ten minutes ago and didn't seem to be any closer to the end.

More than ever, Harry was glad he had opted for the Veritas version of the Polyjuice. With a regular Polyjuice, he would have had to finish the mission in less than two hours after he drank the potion (Voldemort wouldn't allow one of his Death Eaters to drink during a meeting). With this one, however, the effects wouldn't wear of until twenty-four hours after it was taken, so Harry didn't have to worry about that.

Voldemort finally achieved his endless speech by mentioning for Harry to approach, and he did, grabbing Snape's wand. He raised it, and did just as he had done so many times in the past few months, mentally reviewing the passage of the book where it was mentioned. Up and down and round as you pronounce _la_-, half a large circle clockwise as you say _ni-_, three little circles counter clockwise for the _gli_- and finally pointing at the target as you scream _A._

A brilliant silver light engulfed Voldemort's body, but in a second it was gone. Harry had no way of knowing if it had worked. Voldemort smiled, and held out his hand for Severus to give him the potion. Harry gave it to him, carefully opened, and watched with a mixture of apprehension and excitement as Voldemort drank it in one gulp.

Several miles from there, in the hospital wing of Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Severus Snape screamed.

At the Death Eaters meeting, all at once Voldemort began to scream in terror. He felt like the very core of his being was torn, as if his insides were stolen from him, and pushed away. It was so unexpected, so overwhelming, that he was forced to lie down, under the disbelieving eyes of his faithful servants. It seemed to last a lifetime, but for Harry it was very brief. Then, all the Death Eaters began to scream together in pain, as the Dark Mark was torn from them and disappeared from their arms. Tom Riddle stopped screaming then and began sobbing, asking in a pathetic voice

"why? Why did you do that to me? my magic…"

Harry almost pitied him then, but he had no time. The Death Eaters were all to concentrated on their pain and their lost master to pay attention to him, so he began to walk away, slowly at first, then faster and faster. He couldn't believe he was actually getting out of there without harm, the mission had worked, Voldemort was dead, but he didn't have to die after all! He would just call the Knight Bus and return to Hogwarts immediately to share the great news with Snape and…

That was his last conscious thought as he felt a blinding pain in his left leg. There, hissing furiously, was Nagini, and she had just bitten him. A tear silently fell on his cheek as he drifted to a disturbed sleep.

Poppy was on Severus' side in one instant, but she couldn't see anything wrong with him. She took his arm to feel his pulse, and cried out in surprise. His arm was burning! She felt his face skin, but he had no fever. What was happening? She looked at his arm again, and did a double take. It was vanishing, right before her eyes! The Dark Mark was fading. It could only mean one thing. Voldemort was dead!

As Severus calmed down, she called the Headmaster, and showed him the bare arm of the ex Death Eater. They looked at each other in awe for about a minute, not daring to believe it, then they each ran to one aisle of the castle to tell the others.

That night, every man, woman and child of their side celebrated.

Every man, apart from one. Severus, father to the one they now called the Boy-Who-Lived, couldn't celebrate. He kept remembering the scene of Harry's departure, wondering what he could have done differently, how he could have saved his son's life…

He wasn't happy about the Dark Mark's disappearance, because it had been his only way of locating Harry. Even if he had hated it with all his heart, now he would really have needed it. He wondered if Harry was fine, then dismissed the thought as ridiculous. If he had been fine, he would have returned by now.

Indeed, Harry wasn't fine. As far as he could tell, very few Death Eaters remained. Most of them had fled, some because they didn't really believe in the cause anymore and hadn't dared to leave before out of fear of their Dark Lord, some because they still believed muggles were inferiors but since Voldemort now belonged to that category they didn't want to see him anymore.

Others, those who had stayed, were the ones truly loyal to Voldemort, and they wanted to make him pay for what he had done to him.

So he was now in a cell, guarded by Nagini, awaiting not that eagerly for the next round of torture to come, wondering if someone in the whole wizarding world was thinking about rescuing him, or if they were too happy to notice he was missing.

He didn't know which scenario he preferred. Of course, it would be nice to be rescued, but what if one of his rescuers died in the process? He didn't want history to repeat itself. Once had been enough.

PLEASE REVIEW!


	11. Missing in action

**Disclaimer: **Unfortunately for my bank account, I do not own Harry Potter's universe. All the characters are JK Rowling's. This is a response to the Severitus Challenge. The rest is mine.

**Author Note: **Maybe I'll manage to have a hundredth reviews after this chapter!

**Chapter eleven: missing in action**

"Ron, we have to contact your parents. They might know something!"

Hermione was pacing in front of the fireplace in the Gryffindor common room. The day before, the Headmaster had made an announcement at dinner, claiming that Voldemort was no longer a threat. The news were greeted warmly from almost every student, Ron and herself included, until the second bit of information was shared. Harry Potter was missing.

She just couldn't believe it. The year so far had been pretty calm, they hadn't been involved in anything dangerous yet, and she couldn't understand how Harry could have gone and killed the madman without asking them to go with him. Sure, they had grown a little apart these past few months, but they were still the best of friends, as far as she was concerned!

She wondered if he still thought of her that way, though. Guilt submerged her at the thought that she should have made herself available for Harry, instead of enjoying every minute of her free time with her newfound boyfriend. The thing was, Harry spent most of his time with Malfoy, and she just wasn't about to become friends with the Slytherin.

"I don't know, Mione. I don't think they would tell us anything."

"Of course they would! We're his best friends!"

"Then why didn't HE tell us he was going to do something stupid?"

She couldn't think of anything to answer. Why, indeed? Why hadn't he told them what he planned to do? It was painfully obvious. He was afraid of losing them, just like he had lost Sirius. That proved how much he cared about them, and she felt even guiltier for allowingtheir friendship tofall apartthat much. She vowed that if he was found, she would never let him down ever again.

……………………………………………………………………..

Later that day, Severus received an unexpected visit. Draco Malfoy entered without even knocking, wand raised towards his Potions professor as he spat angrily.

"What have you done to him?"

"To whom are you referring to?" Severus enquired with a sight. Why couldn't everyone leave him alone with his Firewhiskey?

"Don't be stupid. Harry Potter. Where is he, and what exactly have you done to him?"

"What makes you think I have anything to do with the fact that he's missing? If you remember correctly you stunned me and freed him. _He_ was the one who stunned you."

"Probably because you had him under Imperius."

"Potter is quite capable of resisting Imperius, or have you forgotten?"

"Some similar Dark Spell, then. I'm not going to believe that it's a mere coincidence if he disappeared the night after I found out you attacked him."

"I didn't attack him. If you must know, I just defended myself."

"I find it hard to believe."

"And no, it's not a coincidence. Harry wanted to stun me, then brew a Polyjuice Potion and take my appearance to go to a Death Eater meeting and end the Dark Lord. I defended myself, and was in control of the situation, until _you _showed up. It's entirely your fault if he's missing!"

"And I suppose you're going to blame me for your master's fall as well? What the hell is going on, here? First you take him into Remedial Potions, which you never proposed to Neville Longbottom even if he clearly needed them more than Harry, and now you tell me he's competent enough to brew a Polyjuice Potion alone and unsupervised? And since when is he Harry to you, anyway?"

Severus berated himself for his carelessness. Draco wasn't finished, however.

"And is the Dark Lord really dead? I figure you'd know if he was…"

Glad for the change of subject, Severus lifted his sleeve, leaving his arm's skin bare. There was no mark. Draco's eyes widened in disbelief.

"You mean that's true? Harry managed to kill him?"

"I only know for sure that he's gone. Forever, this time."

"And Harry? Why isn't he back? You don't think he's dead, do you?"

"I think it highly unlikely that the remaining Death Eaters would kill him so soon. They will want to make him pay, probably going to bring him near death and heal him several times, just for enjoyment…"

"Why aren't you with them, then? My father told me you were one of the most loyal followers of the Dark Lord. Surely you want to make him pay too, for killing your Master."

"I have no wish to discuss my loyalties with you, Draco. Lower your wand _now_."

"Not until you tell me where Harry is."

Severus snorted. "Then we're going to be stuck in here for a very long time."

"I don't think so. My father taught me some spells you may find amusing. I want to know where Harry is. NOW!"

"As do I."

"What do you mean?"

"Are you completely stupid? I wasn't there at the last Death Eaters meeting, because _someone_ had stunned me. I have no way of knowing where he is!"

He must have let his frustration show, because Draco gave him a long look, trying to decipher his meaning. Severus felt the young mind probing his thoughts, and lifted his primary defences just for a second. It was enough for Draco to understand that he held no ill intentions about Harry, but not enough to understand the reasons behind this.

Draco's eyes widened, and he finally lowered his wand.

…………………………………………………………………………………

Miles from there, Harry Potter abruptly came to awareness as a Death Eater cast _Crucio _on him. It only lasted for seconds before it was lifted, and he found himself in front of the very person he hated most.

"Potty Potter, " said Bellatrix Lestrange crazy voice. "You played a nasty tricky on us, making us think you were that naughty snappy Snape. And you took my master's powers away… But don't worry, he'll regain them, I'll make sure of that. He's Salazar Slytherin's heir after all. Anyway, you played with us, and now it's my turn to play with you. What do you say, puppet? Should we play?"

She smiled down at him, and then took out a long knife from under her sleeve. She spoke in a dreamy voice, polishing it with her eyes lost in thoughts:

"When I was younger, my daddy used to play with me, too. He would cast _petrificus totalis_ on me, and make all kinds of nasty little cuts on my beautiful skin. He always had a lot of fun. I think I'll like it too…"

…………………………………………………………………………………

"Severus, here you are. I was just about to send word for you."

"What did you wish to see me about, Albus?"

"I hear you didn't join in the celebrations yesterday. Why is that? Surely you don't think you need to keep your cover, with Voldemort gone for good, do you? You have done more than enough to repay your youth's sins. You are free to run your life as you wish, now. I of course would be glad if you decided to stay at Hogwarts to teach. Potions Masters are very hard to find, these days."

"Celebrating is just not in my habits, Albus. I assure you I'm rejoicing of the Dark Lord's demise, in my own way."

"About that matter, I have filed an official document to the Ministry, to let them know what role you played in this. I have no doubt you will soon receive an Order of Merlin First Class, as well as Mr Potter. His will be posthumous, of course."

"What do you mean, posthumous? You know as well as I do that he's not dead yet, we still have a chance to find him alive!"

"Do you have any idea where he might be?" challenged the Headmaster. "I cannot search every mile of the world. We don't even know if he's still in England. It would be far better for all of us to simply move on, I'm sure Harry would have agreed. I'll make sure he is remembered."

Severus could barely believe his ears. He wasn't about to look for him? He was just declaring him dead? He knew the Headmaster was right, of course, the chances of finding Harry were very slim, if not totally inexistent, but to hear him say that with such bluntness was disconcerting, to say the least. Severus wasn't about to abandon so easily.

He made up some excuse to leave and retired to his dongeons. He had books to read, and a son to save. Every second he wasted speaking with Albus, his fresh and blood was being tortured. The thought was unbearable.

_I'll find you, Harry. I promise. _

PLEASE REVIEW!


	12. Limitations of the Light Side

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter's universe. This is a response to the Severitus Challenge. The rest is mine.

**AN:** Sorry for the long time it took to update, I've been busy with work and visiting a friend who's in hospital three hours from home so I didn't have time to write anything for a long time. I hope you understand. Thanks to all the reviewers!

This is a chapter for Dumbledore's lovers...

**Chapter twelve: limitations of the Light**

Severus was on his way to his chambers when he heard a noise coming from the potions classroom. Thinking it was a student in need of a detention, he ventured nearby and was completely disconcerted by the sight of the normally composed transfiguration professor throwing a tantrum. She was destroying chairs and tables alike with an enthusiasm totally unlike her. She didn't even notice him until he cleared his throat. She then stopped and looked up.

"Severus." She said with a hollow voice.

"Minerva. May I inquire to what you are doing to my classroom?"

"Imagining the piece of woods are the faces of muggles."

"I didn't think you had anything against muggles."

"I usually don't. But these… They were laughing, Severus! When I told them he was gone, probably dead, they laughed!"

"You're hysterical, Minerva. Calm down. To whom are you referring?"

"His relatives! Potter's aunt and uncle, and had their son been there I bet he'd have a good laugh too. I _told _Albus years ago not to leave him there, but did he listen to me?"

She was babbling again, he thought. Without a word he gave her some drops of Calming Draught, which she took gratefully. He then spoke in a smooth voice:

"You were telling me about Mr Potter's relatives."

"Yes. As his Head of House, it is my duty to inform personally the family of the children in my care, should anything happen to them, as you well know."

Severus nodded. As Head of the Slytherin House, he had the same obligations.

"I took great care delivering the news. I didn't want to upset them too much… You should have seen them! They were happy, Severus. When I told them their nephew probably wouldn't come back, they smiled, said they had never wanted him in the first place and that it was "good riddance"! When I left they were making plans to celebrate in the restaurant this very night."

"Maybe they were happy because of The Dark Lord's death. They were probably proud of Potter for dying a hero!"

"I didn't even tell them about that! All I got to tell was that he was missing and probably not coming back, they wouldn't hear anything more, calling it "freakishness"! Severus, they didn't care, as long as he was gone. I thought I'd curse them."

"Why didn't you?" _I would have_, he thought.

She gave him a long, suspicious look.

"And why do you care, Severus?"

"I was under the impression that Mr Potter was spoiled by his relatives. It appears I was wrong. I was simply trying to ascertain how wrong I was."

"Very. Now if you'll excuse me I have work to do."

With a wave of her wand, she put the classroom back in order, and left.

…………………………………………………….

The rat was in poor shape. His skin was so pale it looked grey, and he was coughing blood. His condition had worsened rapidly since the day he had found out from the Daily Prophet's front page that Harry Potter, and not Severus Snape, was missing. He had no choices left. He could die to protect a man he had once sworn to serve, and whose mark he bore. A man who had not once rewarded him for his loyalty, who ruled by fear and madness, and who was now completely harmless. Or he could save a child who had once spared his life when he had had every reason in the world to claim it, and live to see another day…

With great effort, he managed to grab a pen and write a few words with his trembling hands.

………………………………………………………

Severus sighed. He was about to break a promise he had made to himself years ago, to do something Albus had forbidden him to do ever again when he turned to the Light.

But what else could he do? Let his own flesh and blood be tortured and killed, do nothing while he waited for the corpse of his son to be found?

He knew the risks. To practise Dark Magic after so much time of depravation could immediately render him addictive to it again, and it had been difficult enough to break of his addiction the first time.

There was no other way. If there had been, he had no doubts that Albus would have tried it. Despite the things the Headmaster had said these past two days, Severus was intimately convinced that the old man wouldn't have let Harry down, if he had known of a way to find him.

There were some things the Light just couldn't do. Sometimes, you had to do something dark to accomplish something good, and if Albus couldn't see it, Severus could. That was why he had first turned to the Dark, when he understood that Light magic had its limitations. Too many limitations.

Light magic couldn't allow him to save his son.

These books could. He smiled at the irony. He had kept them on Dumbledore's advice, because to renounce something you weren't in contact with, something you didn't see everyday, wouldn't have assured he was able to resist if the opportunity presented itself. Out of sight, out of mind, he thought darkly. Albus wanted him to be able to stay in the vicinity of the books without being tempted, and it hadn't always been easy. But after all these years, he didn't even notice them most of the time. However, they were never out of his mind.

………………………………………………………….

Albus Dumbledore sat on his Headmaster's seat, deeply thinking. Severus' behaviour these past few months confused him, and so far he had failed at each attempt he made to make the man confess everything.

Harry and Severus had somehow gotten close, that much was clear. The man hid it well, but Albus could tell he was worried about Harry's disappearance, though as far as Albus could remember, he had never showed any concern about anyone else.

He had tried everything he knew. The Gryffindor approach, asking Severus directly, a few months ago, had only got him a glare and a spat "This is none of your business" from the Potions Master.

The Ravenclaw one, investigating on pretty much Harry and Severus related, told him next to nothing. The only thing he did learn, while talking with Remus, was the way Harry reacted after he saw Snape's pensieved memory. But he knew for a fact that Severus would never have forgiven Harry for looking into his Pensieve unless something else occurred. The man could be quite resentful sometimes, and he was forcefully protective of his intimacy.

He hadn't even tried the Hufflepuff approach, never having quite the heart of that house, but even the Slytherin way hadn't prove useful. Telling Severus that he couldn't afford to look for Harry because he was an orphan and that next to nobody cared about whether he lived or died had been a low blow, to make Severus admit once and for all that he DID care for the boy, and hopefully to explain why.

There had been a second when he thought he had managed, and that Severus would tell him. In that second, he saw the fury in the teacher's eyes, the need to scream at him to find Harry asap. But he never did.

Albus was getting frustrated, and not only about his friend's refusal to cooperate. He had assigned every Order member (save Severus) to the search of Harry Potter, but they were getting nowhere. They just didn't know where to look. All potential Death Eater were being chased, but so far none had been captured, and with their Dark Mark gone there wouldn't be a valid excuse to interrogate them under Veritasérum, which was under controlled use. Of course, the Order didn't care whether or not it was approved by the Ministry. Once they would find a former Death Eater, they would interrogate him, then use Obliviate on him.

He knew they had time, though. Severus was right, and the remaining Death Eaters wouldn't just kill the boy outright. They would make him pay their master's downfall. But the more they waited to rescue him, the more the risks of finding him insane increased. Harry was strong, and had always been. The success in this mission showed it perfectly. He had managed to vanquish the most feared Dark Lord in the century at the end of sixteen, and without even becoming a murderer. Albus was very proud of him, and hoped against hope that he would have the chance to tell him so one day… Still, even the strongest minds had been known to break under a prolonged use of the Cruciatus curse. He remembered Alice Longbottom, Neville's mother, from when she was at school, and she was anything but weak-minded…

An owl suddenly hooted near his window, and dropped a letter on his desk. It was just a little piece of paper, folded up in two, with a name scrawled on top of it. Apparently it was addressed to Remus, though the handwriting wasn't clear. Albus sighed. Remus was in Grimmauld Place and since the owls who had never been in there couldn't find it, every letter addressed to the werewolf were sent to Hogwarts. He would have to drop by later…

Or he could just go now. Anyway he had too much on his mind, and wasn't getting any work done. Nodding to himself, he threw a handful of Floo powder into the fireplace and called "Number twelve, Grimmauld Place!".

He immediately found himself in front of Remus, who was apparently reading some book on the sofa. Albus had a new pang of guilt when he saw the state the werewolf was in. He wasn't in any better shape than the following day of a full moon, though the next one wasn't due for two other weeks. He raised his head, and smiled upon seeing the Headmaster.

" Albus! I didn't expect you. Do you have any news?"

"Unfortunately no, my boy. But I received an owl for you, and thought I'd drop by to see how you were doing."

"I'm fine, thank you."

"You don't really seem fine, dear boy."

"It's just… First Sirius and then Harry…"

"I know, my boy. I know. But Harry isn't lost yet."

He didn't even believe himself, so he wasn't surprised when Remus appeared sceptical.

"So, what about this letter?" asked the werewolf, trying to sound enthusiastic.

Albus decided to humour him. After all, there was nothing he could say that would make Remus feel better right now, and whatever was in this letter was more likely to hold the man's attention. He gave the letter to him, and raised an eyebrow when the werewolf paled, then carefully smelled the letter, and snarled.

"Remus? What's the matter?"

"Wormtail." Remus snarled viciously.

Hope began to make its way into Albus' heart, and by the time Remus finally spoke, it was tearing him apart.

"Harry… He's in the orphanage where Riddle grew up… It's abandoned now, so Voldemort used it as a symbolic place to hold his Death Eater's meeting… You know where it is?"

"I do. I went there myself to introduce him to the wizarding world… How very fitting that it is also the place where he has been kicked out of it. Order meeting in half an hour. We have to get there as soon as possible! Contact everyone. I'll take care of the Portkey, since no one else know the location."

Remus simply nodded, still a little shocked by the fact that Wormtail had decided to help them. Of course, he knew it was only because the Wizard's debt he owed Harry was killing him. A rat only cared about saving his own skin… And the last other Marauder had always been a rat, even before he became an Animagus.

……………………………………………………….

_Flesh of my flesh, blood of my blood,_

_I take you pain and your peril_

_You who now stands in Danger's Wood,_

_I choose your fate and prove my will_

_May the blood of the father help secure his son_

_May his love make possible the curse he calls upon…_

To be continued...

Please review! Oh, and I'd like to open an inter-house competition. Four questions to answer at the end of each chapter, ten points per correct answer to your house (don't forget to mention your house in the review!):

1: Whatis Snape's incantation designed to do?

2:What side effects will it have?

3: Will the Order get to the abandonned orphanage in time?

4: What will become of Tom Riddle?


	13. Of success and failure

**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter belongs to JKRowling.

Author Note: sorry about the delay, I wrote this chapter about three hundred times, in which various endings occured (Harry dying, Harry losing his mind, Severus dying...). I finally settled for this, I hope you'll like it!

****

****

****

****

**Chapter thirteen: Of success and failure **

****

Half an hour later, number 12 Grimmauld Place was filled with Order members, anxiously waiting to know why they had been called so urgently. When Dumbledore finally arrived with the Portkey, the room felt silent as they waited for him to explain.

"Dear friends, he said, I finally have news regarding Mr Potter's location. We must get there as soon as possible and attempt to rescue him. I do not know in what condition he is in, nor do I have any information regarding his physical and mental state. All I know for sure is that he was still alive four hours ago."

That last bit he had determined with Remus, who could tell Wormtail had touched the letter at that time, and of course he would have already been dead if Harry was killed by his fault.

Remus could also tell that Wormtail had been in a very bad shape when he wrote the letter, and that was what was worrying Albus. He hoped they wouldn't be too late.

Another thing worried him. Severus had yet to come, though Albus was certain he wore the Order pendant which should have alerted him of an Order urgent meeting…

He didn't like it one bit, but finding his Potions Master would have to wait until after the rescue mission.

……………………………………………..

Bellatrix was happily playing with an uncooperative Harry Potter when she heard a yell from her dear master. She hastily got out of Harry's cell to help him, but she was stunned by Remus' Stupefix.

"Albus!" Remus yelled as soon as he saw the black-haired teenager they were looking for laying on the ground.

Mere seconds later, Hogwards headmaster came in, and joined his friend at Harry's side. The boy was unconscious.

"He's alive, Albus, but barely. We need to get him out of here. He needs medical help."

The old man just nodded, then gave the werewolf a pink sock.

"This is a Portkey, leading directly to the infirmary. Take Harry there. I still have to deal with Tom."

"What are you going to do with him?" Remus asked. "He can't go to Azkaban, can he?"

"No, he's not a magical being anymore. I personally think he should go to a muggle prison… but that's for the ministry to decide. He'll get a trial, just like all the Death Eaters we've captured today."

"Oh, and Remus?"

"Yes?"

"Find out where Severus is."

Remus nodded, then took the hand of the unconscious boy next to him and touched the sock.

………………………………………………..

As soon as he was assured Harry was being taken care of by Poppy and there was nothing else he could do for him, he got out of the infirmary to look for his old nemesis. He didn't like leaving Harry alone when he had just found him. His werewolf instincts wanted to never let him out of his sight again, and he sure hoped Severus had a damn good excuse for being missing.

He knocked on the professor's personal chambers door, and waited… and waited… and knocked again, louder.

"Hey!" yelled the portrayed man indignantly.

"Just tell Severus to come out, please."

"Mmm… I doubt it would be useful. He appears to be unconscious."

"Then let me in!"

"Do you know the password?"

"No, but if he's unconscious I have to come in, to help him."

"I doubt he'd want your help, beast. He doesn't like you much, you know."

"Look, we may not like each other, but we're still on the same side. Surely he told you that?"

"Grmf."

The door finally opened, and Remus' scents were immediately on alert. He smelled blood. He raced through the door, worried in spite of him, and knelt next to the potions master.

He breathed in relief when he saw that the man wasn't bleeding. He only seemed unconscious, but not harmed. The blood smell came from something else. He followed it, and found an inscription in dark red ink upon the wall.

At first he was confused. Severus had a son? He shook his head, trying to clear it. It didn't matter. What mattered right now was to bring him to the infirmary, he was ghostly pale. He took the man into his strong arms and carried him out of the room, not wanting to risk casting Mobilicorpus since he didn't know what had caused Severus' illness. As he glanced back to the dark room, the candles on the floor, and the wall inscription, he wondered

_"What have you done, Snape?"_

…………………………………..

Harry woke up at the sound of whispered voices. What was happening? Bellatrix Lestrange NEVER whispered, nor did any of the others Death Eaters. He was confused. Maybe he was back home? Maybe someone had come and saved him?

_Quit doing that, _he told himself. _No one will save you. _

"How is he?" he heard a voice ask.

"Not well. I've never seen anything like that before. Physically he seems fine, but it's like he's drained of his magic. Do you know what spell he cast?"

"A dark spell, I'm afraid. And it didn't work."

"Then it will keep draining his magic until it has done what it was intended to do, as you well know."

"What about young Mr Potter?"

"He will be fine. I'm a little worried since it's been three days, but his body is healing. We won't know about psychological damage until he's woken up."

"As soon as he does, I'll need to talk to him… And I hope for Severus' sake that he's healthy enough to understand what I say."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm not sure yet."

Harry didn't hear anything after that.

…………………………………..

"Albus, he's waking up!"

Madam Pomfrey's voice was the next thing he heard upon awakening. Then, he saw a blurry form sit next to him and get its wand out. Out of habit, he flinched, preparing himself for the pain he was about to feel, but none came, and he heard Albus Dumbledore sigh and say "Silencio".

"I'm sorry Harry, I only wanted to cast a Silencing spell, I didn't mean to scare you."

"It's okay professor", Harry answered. He hated how small his voice sounded to his own ears. It hurt to talk, after so many hours and days of yelling during torture.

"Harry, I'm sorry but I have to tell you something very important right now. I'd have preferred to wait until later, but Severus is dying."

"Professor Snape? What happened to him?"

"It's a long story, Harry. But first maybe you'd like to read the letter Sirius left you when he died."

"Thank you sir, but I don't think so, I mean, why? There was nothing special on it, just him wishing me goodbye…"

"I'm sorry to tell you that my boy, but you never actually read the good letter. The one you think was from Sirius was actually from Snape, who had taken the original from you."

"Why would he do that?"

"Do you remember that Sirius left him a letter too?"

"Yes"

"In that letter your godfather revealed a secret to him, a secret concerning both of you. Severus knew the same secret would be revealed to you in your letter, and he didn't want that."

"So that's why he asked me to come in his office the first night of school! I knew there was another reason! But, sir, how did he know I didn't have read my letter yet?"

"Trust me, he would have known if you had. I'm gonna let you read that letter now, all right?"

"Sure."

There was no envelope in that letter. Harry supposed Snape had gave him the right one. It was just a little piece of parchment, folded in two, almost covered with the handwriting of Sirius. And it contained a secret. Something important enough for Sirius to write a letter to his oldest nemesis. Something big enough for Snape to mimic Sirius's handwriting to hide it. Something that Snape knew since the end of the summer… and hadn't wanted Harry to find out. Something that concerned both of them…

Last time, it had taken him more than a week to have the guts to open Sirius' last letter… and it turned out it wasn't even from him. Under the headmaster's gaze, Harry didn't have a choice. He had to open it now.

_Harry, _the letter began

_I love you. You're a good kid. And whatever Molly may say, I don't confuse you with James. How could I? You have absolutely nothing in common. _

_Sure, you look alike. And he was a good flyer too. _

_That's all. _

_I lied to you. I lied to James. I lied to Lily. I lied to Snape. _

_I don't wanna lie anymore. What's the point, if I'm dead? Harry, I did things I'm not proud of, and you're the one who had to suffer the consequences. My only excuse is that I had good intentions… and a total lack of trust in Snape. _

_Harry, your mother loved James, and always had… but he didn't, or at least not as much. James was still a kid, and he was only interested in what he couldn't have… once he had Lily, he didn't want her as much anymore. He started to see other women… _

_Lily knew, and was hurt. She became friends and more with your real father… the only one she was sure wouldn't take James' side… Severus Snape. _

_When Dumbledore asked them to go into hiding, she first refused. She wanted to leave James, and live with her newfound love. She had just found out she was pregnant… Her only mistake was to tell me. I immediately obliviated her, and then Severus, so that they didn't remember their love for each other. Then, I asked him to brew a potion that would make you look like James' son… _

_That's the story, kiddo. You're Severus' son, and I've always known, and always loved you for your own qualities. Never forget that. _

_Your godfather _

_Padfoot _

Harry wanted with all his heart to think it was some kind of joke. But he knew it wasn't. Everything made sense. Why Snape could suddenly stand to be in his presence. It was just that. Blood. Sirius had loved him for who he was. Snape could stand him because he was his biological father. Nothing more.

He had a father. A real, living father.

Before he could think about it any deeper, he felt a strange tingling in his body. In a second or less it was gone, and he could see Dumbledore smile, as he heard someone coughing beside him. He hadn't noticed before, but in the bed next to his was his real father… And he was waking up.

Please review!

The epilogue will be coming soon.


	14. Epilogue

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter, JKRowling does. I am not making any money out of this, and my only reward is the reviews I get...

**Author Note: **Here it is, the last chapter of this story. I'm sorry it took so long, I've been busy, what with work and all... I don't know yet if I'll write a sequel. Enjoy!

**Epilogue**

Everything hurt. He felt drained, tired, as if he hadn't slept in days. Empty. At first, he didn't remember why. But the truth of what must have happened hit him hard. The spell he had cast had backfired. Of course it had, and if he had stopped five minutes to think about it he could have prevented it. The spell was supposed to make him trade places with his biological son, someone made of his own blood. But Harry and him didn't share the same blood, because of the Heir Potion.

So the spell must have caused his magic to look all over the world for his lost son, or even worse, to fight the Heir potion, thus causing him to fall unconscious. A potion was in any case stronger than any spells, that's part of why he liked them so much. Nothing could counter a well-made potion.

So the only reason he could still be alive and conscious was because his magic had stopped looking for his son before it was entirely drained, and it could only mean one thing. There was nothing left to look for. Harry was dead.

A terrible feeling of emptiness overwhelmed him. He was alone again. His son was gone, forever. He would never brew potions again, never fly on his damn broomstick, never graduate from Hogwarts. He would never know his father was alive.

He blinked and shook his head, trying to chase away the tears menacing to come down his cheeks. But as he opened his eyes for a second, he saw the smiling face of Albus Dumbledore, and couldn't hold them anymore. Everything was this fool's fault. If it wasn't for him, his son wouldn't have had to play hero again, wouldn't have had to die for their cause. The old wizard he always thought of as a mentor had betrayed him in the most terrible way: he had taken his son from him.

"Go away, Albus" he heard himself say in a pathetically weak voice.

"Of course my boy! I'll leave you two alone. You need to talk."

Before Severus could ask what the old man meant, he was gone, whistling. He heard someone put a chair by his bed and sit on it. Hope began to worm its way into his heart, and he finally opened his eyes.

Next to his bed sat a teenager he had never seen before, but whom he recognised instantly. Lily's eyes, of course, the only thing the Heir potion couldn't have altered. Pale brown hair, soft like Lily's, straight like his. Not taller than before, for lack of enough food growing up…

"H-Harry?"

His son smiled, his concerned eyes shining as he nodded.

"But how?"

"The Headmaster gave me Sirius' real letter."

If his son noticed the growl who almost escaped his lips at the mention of the mutt's name, he didn't say anything about it.

"I'm sorry I couldn't tell you earlier."

"It's alright, I understand why you had to keep it secret."

"Are you okay? With me being your father, I mean?"

"I'm not sure yet. Are you?"

"I've had more time to adjust… Do you want to talk about it?"

"I think you should rest, for now."

Severus wanted to protest. He had been waiting months for this moment, the moment when he could finally talk to Harry as his son and not just some student he despised, and to postpone it any longer was frustrating. But as much as he would like to pretend otherwise, this little talk had taken most of his energy and he had to fight to keep his eyes open.

There would be time to talk, later. His son was there, and safe. They would have all the time in the world to talk about it. For now, knowing that they could be together was enough.

Reluctantly, he nodded and drifted off almost immediately to sleep. The last thing he felt was his son's hand on his forehead, gently brushing the hair away.


End file.
